#i have a lot more things to say about why but i feel like i would end up telling my entire life story which would just be me venting

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ me & my husband ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you don’t need your husband to be perfect, you just want him to be honest┊3.3k words

contains: written before s2 came out!! probably ooc or inaccurate, angst with spots of fluff & a bittersweet ending? reader’s pov mostly, suspicions of cheating, lack of communication, mentioned age gap, random inaccurate lore for the salesman

➤ author's note: yeah, i saw the sudden uptick in notes on that gong yoo post i made and realized season 2 came out which i completely forgot about. i intend to watch it soon as possible and write fics for it as well as (probably) add new characters to my writing list, but for now, please be content with this!!

₊˚ʚ 💌₊˚✧ this fic was heavily inspired by “emotionally intoxicated” by aurasaurora!

gong ji-cheol is the poster image for the ideal husband. he’s always been like that from the moment you met him, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the luckiest woman in the world when he calls himself yours. he’s tall and handsome, someone who catches everyone’s eye despite his only being focused on you. he’s wealthy and hard-working, able to call a luxurious mansion your home, and willing to buy you anything your heart desires as long as you ask for it. he spoils you rotten with that money, gifting you expensive things even if you didn’t ask if it reminded him of you. he’s doting, always sure to smother you in affection with kisses and cuddles whenever together to make it known how much he adores you. the sex is great too, he makes you feel wanted and desirable without ever leaving you unsatisfied. 

most importantly though, you love him, and he loves you. the last two years of marriage have been so blissful, and there isn’t a single thing you would change.

at least that’s what you believe most of the time.

you like to think you know a lot about him, and in a way, you do. you know his favorite color, how he likes his coffee, what he usually orders at restaurants, the type of wine he prefers over beer, the exaggerated shocked fasces he likes to make, how his favorite chore is folding the laundry, how his least favorite is doing the dishes because he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, the name of his childhood pet, what positions he likes to cuddle or fuck in, the names he’s thinking of giving to your child when they are finally born— there are so many little details you know about him, yet at times you feel like you don't know anything at all.

you don’t really know much about his childhood aside from a few random stories, he claims there’s nothing really notable and that it was as standard as can be. you don’t know who his parents were or what they were like because he said they died when he was young, but surely that’s an important loss which must have impacted him and made youth difficult in some way? you don’t know about his past partners if he even had any, but you doubt you were his first as he was yours with a face like his. you don’t know any of his secrets, like an embarrassing moment or something sinful he might have committed in the past. 

he knew all of these things about you and the little details of your life, so why don’t you know any of the most basic things regarding your own husband?

these periods of uncertainty are few and far, but once the icy tendrils of doubt creep in, it’s difficult to shake them off when you realize you only know these things through observations and not him actually telling you. it’s a miracle your stupidity allowed you to make it this far in falling head over heels for him, getting married, and carrying his child (not that you completely regret it, you still love him, but you wish you had given it more time).

they say there are no such things as stupid questions, yet the main question you have is exactly that as it’s something every wife should know even before the marriage. it would be impressive how long you’ve been clueless about this matter if it weren’t for how often and how skilled he is in managing to evade your curiosity and steer the conversation elsewhere. you didn’t want to press on it since he seems to shut it down every time the topic is brought up and you don’t want to fight over something you technically didn’t need to know, but it weighs on you and presses into your chest with the knowledge you were being kept in the dark. 

what did your husband do for a living, exactly?

his schedule is always unpredictably changing with little rhyme or reason and it confuses you. sometimes you’ll go an entire few days without seeing him, sensing him wake up in the morning before the sun is even up, feeling him kiss you on the cheek before getting ready, and not coming back until long after you fall asleep with no communication aside from a note on the table telling you he’ll be gone for the day along with a wad of cash for you to treat yourself while he’s gone. other times he’ll be chilling at home for an entire week, waking you up with aggressive cuddles (or morning sex), making you breakfast with the morning news on in the background, and taking you out to wherever you want to go on his card in his rare casual clothing and messy wavy hair rather than the typical fancy suits and hair styled with gel. 

as far as you’re concerned, he’s a businessman of sorts, although you don’t know what company he works for or what position he has in terms of hierarchy or how an occupation of that type allows such flexibility in hours or anything at all. 

“what if he’s having an affair?”

you paused for a second before continuing the motion of slicing the cheesecake with a fork and savoring the taste in your mouth. “that’s ridiculous,” you stated simply after swallowing. “he loves me very much, and it doesn’t explain his weird schedule either.”

today was spent with some friends you met back in high school, but honestly, you were only attending out of politeness and tradition since you honestly feel like you’ve disconnected from these girls long before the current. still, you treasure the memories shared in your more formative years and wouldn’t ever say no to them if they wanted to hang out like old times. ji-cheol doesn’t bother to hide his distaste for them, calling them a miserable lot who try to drag you down at every opportunity out of jealousy for your happiness. you laugh it off, but you know deep down he’s right and yet you’re still sitting here at the cafe with them with bright smiles like their words don’t cut deep. 

“maybe he’s dating the boss— a sexy office siren type— she gives him plenty of days off and he stays with her at her beach house at jeju island or something to keep her company, and then she gives him lots of money in exchange.”

“oh my god, could you imagine?”

“can you be realistic? it sounds like you’re just writing a plot for a new drama,” you giggled, not allowing the feeling of a twisting blade in your abdomen to show on your face or the venom to drip from your words at the mere thought of the man you loved being stolen away a faceless woman who was everything you wished you were more of: more beautiful, more wealthy, more experienced, more intelligent—

“you don’t know because he’s your first love or whatever— and you’re so lucky to have been able to marry him— but men are dogs, and i don’t see why he would be the exception.”

“but he treats me so well—”

“maybe he only treats you well because you’re pregnant— he probably just feels guilty. i mean, when i was pregnant and had my first, my husband wasn’t attracted to me anymore and demanded a divorce unless i lost the baby weight.” she shrugged like it was so simple, so common, like the notion of marriage wasn’t something so deeply important and could be thrown away so easily.

“we aren’t suggesting you get a divorce, but we’re just saying you should keep an eye on him— you know? a handsome guy like him was always bound to get a lot of attention…” her laugh was shrill and high-pitched, making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“right… thanks guys…”

that night, you couldn’t stop twisting and turning on the large sectional couch with thoughts rushing through your head of your husband with some other woman. the jealousy from these fictional scenarios without evidence of existence plagued you. it made you want to vomit up the negative feelings and go back to the person you were a few hours ago without the images of him cheating planted in your mind, which didn’t go unnoticed by him and caused him to ask what was bothering you as it wouldn't be good for the baby.

you hesitated for a moment, “could you tell me about your exes?”

“why are you suddenly curious about that?” he chuckled, knowing damn well that it was because of those stupid snakes masquerading as people (it truly takes one to know one) running their mouths again, but still feigning obliviousness for your sake. 

“just wondering,” you muttered. “i mean, you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, but you’re a bit older than me so…”

“and i hope to be the only one too,” he smirked confidently, making you laugh as he plopped down on the ground and rested his head on the cushion next to yours. 

it was such a casual setting in such a vast space, bringing you back to the days in your little apartment inviting him over for chicken and beer before you knew about your immense wealth and got embarrassed over your cheap dates when he was so used to expensive restaurants. he found it very endearing though, knowing you liked him for him and not his money.

“well, if you’re so curious…” he trailed off, but you weren’t quite sure if it was because of hesitation or because he simply didn’t know where to start. you can’t remember the last time a conversation like this was held to learn more about him since it was usually about you, maybe back when you first started dating and briefly discussed his late parents.

he started with his crush when he was in middle school since that was his earliest recollection of feeling love, who didn’t really count as a girlfriend or love because nothing was established and because of their age, but she was his first kiss that he ran away from right after because of how nervous he was, and it was never addressed again. apparently it was his second girlfriend who taught him everything he knew before he met you, saying she basically “trained him like a dog” to create a gentleman out of an inexperienced boy who still wasn’t quite sure how to treat a woman like a queen. she was a bit mean though, and he didn’t realize he dodged a bullet until later after realizing she was unnecessarily cruel to him for no reason multiple times if he didn’t do things exactly her way.

you suppose you always knew your husband wasn’t always the suave charmer you know him to be, but the image of younger him being clueless on matters of romance made you burst out laughing because of how you could hardly picture it.

he reached over to pinch your cheek affectionately, “are you of all people really making fun of me when you were too scared to hold my hand for me to escort you out of my car?”

“oh my god, that was on our first date, i can’t be blamed! i was shaking like crazy on that day— you had to tell me that you didn’t bite.”

“i was actually thinking about calling off our date last minute because of an emergency at work,” he confessed, “but i’m glad i didn’t and met the love of my life instead.”

“aw, you flirt.” the memory made you smile and feel all giggly inside, all the fears you had about him possibly having an affair falling away, yet there were still some lingering at the back of your mind with the mention of his job. “what happened at work?”

“nothing that important,” he said instantly like clockwork. “just some boring business things.”

you didn’t push it, not wanting to ruin the mood, but once again, your curiosity was just itching to ask more questions about his work life even if it was truly as boring as he says. you wanted to know every mundane detail whether it was what his office looked like or what the annoying co-worker did on a daily basis, anything to satiate your need to know more about this mysterious man you had made life-long vows with.

it all came to a head one night while you were cooking dinner, you heard the doorbell ring a dozen times in quick succession and answered it to find an older man with fiery red hair that seemed to match his temper. when he addressed your husband by name and verified your relationship with him, he began spewing all kinds of insults about the blood he had on his hands by luring innocent people to their deaths and you felt your heart drop. you tried to reason with him that there must have been some sort of mistake, barely able to get your words out in a fit of confusion and surprise at the absurd accusation, but he wouldn’t hear you out and pointed a finger in your face, asking if you had any idea what gong ji-cheol was doing behind your back. 

at that very moment, he was suddenly seized by two anonymous men in all black, causing him to yell out in panic as they dragged him away and stuffed him in the back of a car before quickly driving off into the night without a trace. it all happened so fast, you just stood there with your mouth open in shock, wondering if you should call the police on what looked like an abduction. 

then your husband comes running up the steps with his locked briefcase in hand, shouting out your name, asking you if you’re okay, pulling you back inside the comfort of your shared home, and checking you all over to make sure you aren’t harmed in any way. when you ask about who that man was and what he was talking about, he simply told you he was some crazy customer who was dissatisfied with the company, was looking for someone to blame, and promised to tell you the details later. 

you didn’t tell him that you didn’t believe him, just pursed your lips and furrowed your brow for a second then let go of the topic like you always do, taking his coat off his shoulders with a peck on the lips asking how his day was. he reciprocated the kiss, said it was fine without anything special, and that he would shower before having dinner, something he didn’t really need to say since you already knew but stated anyway as per evening routine. 

as he headed up the stairs and disappeared from sight, you stared at the locked briefcase resting crookedly on the little entryway table and paused for a moment. if you did this, it would be a breach of privacy and a sign of growing distrust in your husband, but it could also answer all of the questions that never cease. 

your hands wouldn’t stop shaking involuntarily as you felt the cold black metal underneath your fingertips, marveling at the smooth material clean of any scratches or dents. fidgeting with the built-in combination lock, six number sequences started rushing through your mind as you started to hastily run through your options with a focus on dates. you were determined to only do this three times since you had no idea if an alarm would be set off or if it would close off permanently.

his birthday?

an electronic beep went off indicating you were incorrect, making you nervous.

your birthday?

wrong again, you only had one attempt left. you swallowed, shaking the accumulating sweat off your hands.

the date of your wedding?

you gasped as the locks suddenly flipped open and lightly knocked against the briefcase. it was undone, you could open it at any moment now and see it all.

and yet you still hesitated during this golden opportunity. was it the fact that the passcode to his most secret possession was the day you got married? was it guilt for going behind your husband’s back for answers instead of directly asking him? was it because you were afraid of what you would find if you discovered the red-haired man was telling the truth?

whatever it was, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and locked it again, leaving it looking untouched and went back to playing dinner.

there was a heavy tension present at the dinner table that night, the only conversation present being him interrogating you about what the red-haired man talked about word-for-word. not really interrogating since his tone of voice was still calm and gentle as he asked questions, but you could see him fidgeting with his fork and not leaving much room for any other topic until he was sure you told him everything. he then sighed and claimed the man was insane, a gambling addict who was too deep in debt to afford treatment and was trying to drag him into his misery after meeting at the subway station. 

“ji-cheol?”

he froze for a second, not used to hearing you use his real name rather than a pet name. “yes?”

“what do you do for a living, exactly?”

a pause, you watched him fidget with his chopsticks and shift the grains of rice around. “you know, business stuff— nothing you need to concern yourself about—“

“but i don’t know! that’s the thing!” you felt tears starting to well up behind your eyes, letting two years of frustration trickle through. “i know it doesn’t seem that important for me to know, but is it really so important that you leave me in the dark about it for the three years we’ve been lovers? and now some guy comes to our doorstep and tells me about how your job is playing games with people at the subway station to make them participate in death games?!” you took a deep breath, calming yourself down, “please, be honest with me, that’s all i want…”

“i-i…” that was the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and if the situation wasn’t so tense, you would be proud you finally got one-up on him. “i can’t say… it’s for your own safety and mine.”

“so he was right?”

he remained silent, trying to think of some way to counter what seong gi-hun had told you, but if you didn’t believe the elaborate lie he already told you and wanted to learn more, then he knew this was the end of the road. 

“i-i need some time to think…” you looked defeated and it broke his heart. “i’m going to my mom’s house tonight, i’ll be back tomorrow—“ you got up, not bothering to pack anything aside from your phone and your wallet.

he had prepared for you to start screaming and crying (not that he would blame you, i mean, who would willingly stay with a man who was complicit in mass murder), demanding a divorce and packing your things to shut the door for him never to be seen again with your unborn child. the strangely calm reaction was both a relief and extremely unsettling to him.

“i won’t be mad if you decide not to come back” he stated plainly, defeated in a state you’ve never seen him in before. “whatever choice you make, i’ll support you, just know i love you— more than anything else in this world.”

you stared at him blankly through the open doorway. perhaps your husband isn’t the perfect man you believed him to be, but he was as honest as he possibly could have been with you regarding the matter, and that’s enough. 

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning.” that’s how you feel at the moment, but you don’t know if you’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning when it sinks in.

[classyrbf]

THAT D!CK IS A 10/10! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...an analysis on the jjk men’s dicks just because hehe :)

INFO...jjk men x gn!reader, we’re talking about cock and balls a lot (no seriously), cum analysis, where they like to cum, heavy detail (be warned), im trying to make this a little realistic so no, gojo will not have a 12 inch dick (sorry not sorry), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

here’s a little something while I’m being a busy bee and dealing with life (help me)

GOJO

to start off, gojo isn’t too big or isn’t small either, if anything he’s just perfect (cause he is perfect duh). He’s around 3 inches soft and 6.6 inches hard. Listen, as much as I want to make this man have the hugest dick ever, he does not and it’d cause an extreme amount of pain every time he is pounding you. He’s not too girthy either, just the average 4.3. His also slightly curves upward which is perfect for hitting your sweet spot. But he’s super sensitive on the tip! So if you tease him too much there he might just cum prematurely. His balls are definitely a decent size too, they may be on the bigger side a little but he loves to have his balls played with so have fun! When gojo cums, he cums a lot! It literally will go all over the place if he can’t control it correctly. It’s spurts out in waves and it sometimes it’s like torture cause it makes his orgasms last longer but god does it feel so good. His cum is sort of thin and runny instead of thick and goopy with a slight salty taste.

NANAMI

i personally feel like nanami is fucking packing girth wise! He is slightly smaller than gojo around like 5.75-6 inches but he is fucking girthy! It’s like a damn weapon and it’s heavy (I’ll help you carry it around nanami, don’t you worry). His girth is around 5.5-6 inches and it’s veiny! Lord help us all because he knows how to use that thing, hitting all the right angles. From being so girthy his cock slightly hangs…So what comes with a fat cock? Big breeder balls! Duh! His balls are so fat and big it’s like an instinct to suck and lick on them. He leaks a lot of precum when he’s hard so it just drips from his cock until he cums so hard. Speaking of cum, unlike gojo he has more of a thicker consistency, and instead of spurting out all over, it just flows from his cock and it’s looks so pretty like a fountain. It drips all down his cock and balls and onto his hand if he’s jerking himself off. When he’s fucking you, he definitely cums inside and just fucks his cum into you over and over until he makes a big mess.

TOJI

my man, my man, my man! Toji is definitely bigger than nanami and gojo but only by like 1-2 inches. So he’s around 7 inches which is still scary bc why are just walking around with that? He’s definitely girthy too but not like nanami, he’s more girthy around the tip of his cock and it gets slightly smaller towards the base but it’s not a huge difference. He’s tip gets really pink and red when he’s hard that it almost looks painful (don’t worry baby I’m on my way to help) but I promise he’s fine. Dare I say that doesn’t trim that often???? I feel like he has a slightly bush, nothing too crazy but it’s kind of grown out. He doesn’t care (me neither) as long as he gets laid he’s fine. His balls are mix of nanami and gojos but they hang! So when he’s fucking you they definitely slap against your skin. When toji cums it’s pretty normal, it’s sometimes shoots out a little bit and then slows down after, but it’s definitely a good amount of cum that does come out quickly. He loves to see your face or your chest covered in it because he’s a pervy little bastard for sure.

GETO

pretty boy geto hehe…let’s just say that thing curves to the left okay? He’s around 6.5-7 inches and girthy so let’s pray for everyone’s holes cause I don’t think we are making it out alive. He’s somewhere between nanami’s and Toji’s girth so…do what you will with that info. His dick is so pretty though, a pretty dick for a pretty face, the curtains match the drapes yk? He has two prominent veins that run on the underside of his dick where he’s really sensitive. If you look closely you’ll see them pulsing when he’s hard. His tip is also a very pretty pink color while his shaft and base are slightly darker than his skin tone. His balls aren’t too big either so it’s definitely more about his dick. He doesn’t cum a lot either surprisingly, he’s never been the cum everywhere and get super messy type of person but if hasnt had sex or jerked off it’ll be more than usual.

CHOSO

choso is closer to nanamis size, maybe a little smaller but not a huge difference. His is pretty average but there is nothing wrong with that (can I get free ride???). Just like geto he also has a very pink tip and his shaft is the same color as his skin. His girth is around Gojo’s but he has some big balls that are just asking to licked and sucked fr. Baby boy gets so whiny when he’s hard and leaking that he’s almost embarrassed by it, he tries to control it but he literally can’t stop getting so hard to point it drives him insane. His cum is stringy and thick, like the perfect consistency for cumming on your face, chest, ass, literally anywhere. He cums a normal amount, usually spurts out super quickly and then slows down towards the end of his orgasm.

SUKUNA

where do I even begin??? Clearly, this mf is the biggest out of all of them. He’s scary asf because he has two, yes, two dicks that are practically identical. 8-9 inches long, 4.7 girth. End my life. THIS MF GOT 4 LEGS. It’s actually cruel. They’re thicker towards the base and gradually get narrow towards the tip. So at first, the stretch doesn’t seem that bad until you realize you got about 7 inches more to go…yeah. His cocks are darker than the rest of his body and his tips are sort of like a light pink/tan color. The only difference between his cocks is that one is super veiny and the other quite literally has like 3 veins. Fat breeder balls that hang, swing, touch the floor (I’m jk) but literally the mix of toji and nanamis balls. They hold so much cum, he can literally go round for round back to back and fill up every hole of yours without taking a break. And he cums so much that it’s actually concerning. Like nanami, its overflows maybe once in a while it will shoot out.

HIGURUMA

believe it or not I think this man is packing at least 7-8 inches. It may not look like it but I think he does! He never brags about it either so it’s really hard to guess. When he’s hard his dick touches his belly button…and his balls are somewhere between Geto’s and Gojo’s size so they’re kinda average. The color is slightly tan maybe like one shade darker and he has a pale pink tip. Did I mention he has a fat tip?? It seems like it gets even bigger when he’s hard, all swollen and everything. His girth is pretty average too like Gojo’s maybe slightly bigger like 4.5 but that’s it. Higuruma doesn’t cum that much it like toji where it’s a pretty normal amount. His cum isn’t super white either, it’s kind of on the clear side and super stringy which is perfect for cumming on your tongue imo

[iannmin]

What kinks do you think San would have? <3

KINKS SAN WOULD HAVE ⁺₊❆⋆ 최산

🏷️ ⋆ smut, drabble, intentional lowercase, size kink, praise kink, breeding kink (serious), lingerie play, somnophilia, cum play (LOTS of cum)

🗒️ ⋆ RAHHHHHH WTF I’ve been wanting to write this SO BAD!!! thank you thank you so much for the opportunity skjdkskdksk i hope both sides of your pillow are nice and fluffy every time you sleep <3333 also i just couldn’t help but put the edit of long haired san hehe

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹ ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆

PRAISE KINK ⋆

no offence but sannie would be on the number one priority list for those who have praise kink. like can you see how he folds and gets absolutely all squishy and subby when wooyoung praises him? like his cheeks gets all flushed and hot,, he’ll probably desire the same with his s/o, whether it’s him giving or receiving. and to be honest san is more of a soft dom, so he’ll love reassurance. just imagine every time when he’s about to enter you he will most definitely whisper softly “you can take it baby, it’s gonna open up so well for me, your pussy’s gonna feel so good, hm?” (and I’ve noticed that san loves to say ‘hm?’ after his sentence a lot in his voice lives and it drives me absolutely crazy)

SIZE KINK ⋆

sannie is a total sucker for size differences and he absolutely builds his ego off of watching his s/o squirm under his huge frame. like just picture him headlocking his s/o from behind, broad chest sticking to his s/o’s back while just absolutely pounding the fuck out of them and whispering dirty things into their ear ughh. and do you remember that one fanmeeting clip of san’s back facing the audience and wooyoung is literally holding his neck attempting to kiss him??? he’ll probably look like that coming home to his s/o from a long day of work,, kissing them at the entrance as a ‘I’m home’ type of gesture. and also,, that’s probably why san hits the gym sososo much, it’s really just to assert dominance and feel big

BREEDING KINK ⋆

don’t even get me started with this once :,) like do you guys realise how traditional san is? like in terms of family and stuff he seemed to have grown up in a very traditional household where his father was strict on him and all that. like just look at how much respect he has for his parents and how well-mannered he is,, and especially do you remember when san mentioned that if he had a daughter he would raise her in a very princess way but if he had a son he would raise him like his father did in a strict way? so anyways,, the whole point I’m making is that san would probably want to start a family early with his s/o so that they can have cute little family outings together, and he can be a dad. so that’s where the feral breeding kink comes in. like he just goes absolutely bonkers the first time his s/o let’s him hit it raw after their marriage, or even better, when he learns that his s/o wants to try for a baby, so he makes sure to absolutely fill their cunt to the fullest, even going beyond his usual stamina of two rounds because for some reason he keeps getting hard after watching his white cum seep out of their hole and dripping onto their thighs :( P.S. he might even have a sex marathon with his s/o on the week their ovulating just to maximise his chances of becoming a dad

FINGERING ⋆

okay okay, I know sannie is a clean type of person and he doesn’t really like making a huge mess, especially when you see how clean and minimalistic his dorm room is but when it comes to his s/o, all morality just gets thrown off out the window. he goes pussy drunk and fingers them until they’re making an absolute mess. and I’ve seen some people commenting that he has chubby hands like cheese-stick fingers but won’t they feel so fucking good when their up in his s/o’s hole? i bet the stretch is a whole lot better with thick fingers like his and it’s definitely enough to get his s/o squirming and whimpering, even squirting.

SOMNOPHILIA ⋆

sannie treats women with so much respect and probably hates non-con stuff which is a great turn-off for him. but somnophilia? that’s his jam right there. the first time his s/o told him up front that they like being fucked awake no matter when, he was slightly hesitant, but he probably discovered a whole new world right there and then when he slid his dick into their unprepped cunt, the raw feeling being absolutely addictive. so even on days when his s/o looked absolutely unsexy, wearing a pair of kiddy-looking pajamas, he will still have a great urge to pull down those cartooned pants and fuck them. he just can’t get enough of the moment when their brows finally knit together and their eyes flutter open, raising their head from the pillow just to see him wrecking their pussy open, and that’s when all senses and feelings process in their brain and they start moaning and squealing.

LINGERIE ⋆

just a bonus kink here hehe,, and not to mention sannie is not the type to rip open the lingeries because he respects how expensive they are, but he’s more of the type to push their panties to the side and fuck them <3

[kooyabooya]

FREUDIAN

m reader x rosé // 24k words

They always say: never make a deal with the devil. Even when all fronts of temptation have you where you’re most vulnerable - you can’t afford to give in, especially if it’s the howling calls of the past whispering out. 

So you take a bite of the forbidden fallen apple anyway. Give into the fabled rumor of Judas’s betrayal. Because that’s all you’ve ever known yourself to be: gullible, foolish, naive. 

None of that has changed. Even as you’re staring at her, taking the fall. 

A look over her shoulder, furry scarf encapsulating her neck. The flash with her eyes sends you reeling, pulling your heartstring to the thinnest strand, nearly tearing it. She’s playing her role so innocently: the heartbreaker, your antagonist, a divine sin. It’s a losing game; one where you know very well, the kind of game where it was deemed unwinnable from the start. 

But when you’re holding her close, feel her face buried into the space of your neck, all of the memories come flashing back - each one feeling more right than wrong. 

“Maybe in another life,” Rosé tells you, and you’re shushing her, because the break in her voice is already destroying you on the inside, whatever she says next doesn’t even register in your ears; since she’s said the same tale before, and you’re agreeing with her regardless. 

To you, Rosé is a lot of things. A scrapbook filled with endless memories. The person to sit at your doorstep late into the night just to have a meaningful conversation. A half that’s been ripped apart. You can go down the mental checklist time and time again, and end up in the same spot as before. 

In another life, or some universe for that matter: you and her get that fairytale ending together. 

–

The incident, quite literally, comes fast in the dead of the night. 

It doesn’t hit you on the nose all at once. What does hit you is your tossed phone right onto your face, squinting at nothing when you sit up before looking down to the bright flash of your phone screen along with the number resting at the top. 

“I thought I told you to put your phone on vibrate, you idiot,” your girlfriend huffs sleepily, clearly annoyed at the random call during these late hours when slumber is the only option. Your vision is still coming about, looking over to the window where it’s still dark outside, then over to the alarm clock on your nightstand, struggling to even get a glimpse of the time - no point in looking at your phone too since you would be seeing white well into the morning. 

Like anyone else in this particular situation (not really), you pick up: “It’s three in the morning, why would-” 

“Did you plan an anniversary trip for us?” The girl’s tone on the other end is a bit on edge, looking for answers. “When the fuck were you going to tell me and why the hell did it have to be now?” 

You’re still half asleep, half awake; but the timbre in the voice sounds all too familiar - she’s got the same drawl stemmed off from you, not to mention the flurry of questions in the opening five seconds. There’s also that sense of bubbliness you’re imagining, the way that you can easily picture her sitting with both knees up, her head tilted in a way where it shows that she’s very uninterested. Or, the other form where she’s leaning forward, leaning into her phone, constantly looking down at the ground and nowhere else. 

She hates the fact that she had to make this call, and you can easily tell. You, on the other end, are trying to put the bits and pieces of the story together to the best of your memory, scratching the back of your head, trying to rattle your slow-working brain. Hanging up would’ve been the best option to follow, save this conversation for later when you can think straight. Typically, you should’ve just ignored the call entirely. 

Tragically, that’s not your style, so you answer, “Hey Rosie, been a while since I’ve heard your voice.” 

A sigh sounds off from the speaker, “Don’t ‘Rosie’ me. I just need you to confirm my suspicions.” 

“On?” 

“Pfft, stop being stupid. I’m not gonna repeat myself here.” 

You breathe out a soft laugh, and hang your head into your chest for a second, collecting your thoughts. “Yes, I did plan that out as a trip for us. Right before we, uh-” 

Silence fills the call immediately after. Despite being on separate paths, the tension still stings like a tightening noose around your neck. Not even a simple grind of your teeth and a clenched fist can serve as the probable testament to the amount of pain you and her suffered together on the tail-end of your relationship, the hope of salvaging lost long before calling it quits. 

“Still there?” Rosé asks, snapping your attention back to her voice. 

“Yeah,” you reply, hiding a sniffle through a quick cough, “I just- yeah. Details can come later.” 

“Okay,” she says, carrying on. “I got that reminder email from the travel organizer.” And at this point you’re cursing yourself and mentally facepalming as many times as you possibly could (seriously, why would you think it was a good idea to set up a reminder through that stupid auto-email service to notify her too as well?), thinking of every contingency to weasel your way out of this conversation. Rosé, however, had no idea of your present thought process, “Went through reading the fine prints of the agreement and…well.” 

“And?” You practically prayed to God that she’d not been this quick to read into the lines and decode the information. 

“Says here that the trip is non-refundable.” That is what Rosé ends with. 

“That so?”

“We can’t cancel it.”

“Too late for us to do that, no?” 

The comforter ruffles behind you, a small hand tapping the lower back of your shirt. “Babe? Who’s that on the phone?” 

You press the switch near your nightstand to put the room into an ambient lighting setting, turning over to see the lovely ruffle of bed hair and one eye open. She then snuggles herself back into the bed, covering herself with the sheets as you’re palming the side of her face to put her back to sleep. “Sorry Jennie, it’s a-” and here is where you’re throwing caution to the wind, ensuring that you don’t trip up on your words at this moment, “late night work call.” So far it’s good, and Jennie nods with a soft hum, lazy smile at the touch of your palm. She’s a bit dazed, but one good measure for insurance, you tell her, “I’ll explain in the morning.” 

Jennie blinks once or twice, dropping her eyelids while you rub your thumb across her cheek, the soothing touch sending her away to dreamland. There’s a warmth here; one where you feel safe, at home. You’ve struck out in getting with a girl like her, and the timing of it couldn’t have been more impeccable: you and Jennie were both at low points in life when you found each other, building up until the feelings couldn’t be suppressed any longer. 

(That story’s for another time. Though, a very heartwarming memory to look back on.) 

Your name, rolling of Rosé’s tongue, drags you back down. “Hello? Oh- yeah, yeah. I’m still here. What were you asking?” 

“So we’re going? Is that what I’m getting at here?” 

The inquiry lances your heart and mind, filling it with an endless plethora of uncertainties. “Wait- what?” 

“Well for one: it’s my ticket. And two: I want to go. If you were going to morph this trip with someone else, I’d understand.” Rosé’s reason is plausible, and you’re seeing a way out of this less and less. “But considering that we had the plans under our names, we’d-” 

“Rosé-” 

“It’s my ticket.” Rosé doubles down and you wince at the fact. “I can imagine you scrunching your face right now, stop that.” 

“Okay, you win.” 

“Good.” 

“I’ll get everything arranged prior in the next few days and pick you up for the airport. Talk to you later.” 

–

At the airport, not to anyone’s surprise, there is an essential bomb rush of families on top of families arriving and checking in and boarding to their set destination. Pro tip: plan the flights ahead of time (especially if it’s during the holiday season), just to avoid any sort of commotion or potential setback on your end. If the flight gets delayed, rescheduled, or relocated to another gate, that’s not your fault. 

God forbid that any of those happen since it would only prolong the amount of time you’d have to spend with Rosé. 

Very small words were exchanged when you picked her up from her apartment, on the way to the airport, and even when you did most of the work getting all of the travel plans for this ‘anniversary gift’ finalized and confirmed. As expected, honestly. Sharing a car ride with your ex was not on your list of places to get stuck in no matter what the predetermined events or circumstances are, but all the more reason to keep your eyes on the road at the time, go figure. 

Rosé’s sitting on the opposite end of you at one of the benches near the boarding gate once everything’s been checked in and settled; along with the security wing gauntlet handled by the TSA, but you’re finally here - waiting for all of this to finally be done and over with. She’s bearing no ounce of attention towards you, mindlessly scrolling on her phone with earbuds in, hoping that you wouldn’t take notice, but you do. And when she does flash a quick look of her eyes in your direction, a millisecond is all you get to dart your eyes elsewhere that isn’t on her. 

Still, you can’t help yourself when you’re mentally rolling back the years. 

Her styling is strikingly the same as it was before. A leather jacket finely pointed at the edges and crooks where it looks like the wrinkles aren’t even supposed to be there in the first place, those flowy pants that make it look like it was ripped off of a parachute and sewed up by a designer as this one-of-one piece. Then, there are the rings, and her pair of shades resting above her forehead; she’s bundled up into the seat like a little kid, an arm holding her phone as it rests along her thigh, both of her shoes are off and she’s got these cute, pink fluffy socks leaving you genuinely confused since the choice practically contradicts the other choices of clothing entirely. Really? Out of all those socks, you chose to go with that pair?

That doesn’t stand out as much compared to the other thing: her hair. 

Maybe God’s rolling the dice on you for this one. Hell, you’re even wondering if God ever rolls dice in his free time upstairs. Purposeful or not, it isn’t doing you any good the more you look at those golden, heavenly locks; braided up and tied back into her head where it doesn’t give any issue for her neck whatsoever. Not to mention her side profile, the shape of her nose, and that jaw. 

The pout she purses with her lips. It’s anything less than innocent. 

On schedule, there’s about roughly an hour or so before your flight to Paris takes off, and you’re not willing to drive yourself insane with very few word phrases spoken. So you make conversation: 

“You dyed your hair again,” you say, clutching your hoodie when Rosé’s attention falls back to you, “Gotta say, I like the color.” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Rosé says, pulling an earbud out and sliding both feet off the seat. The phrasing alone is still good enough to pass as awkward, sighing as she turns her head to look out the window - nothing but cloudy skies for miles while a plane touches down on the tarmac. “Blonde’s been such a comforting color for me, so I thought why not roll with it again for fun?” 

“Does bring back memories.” You slide your palms under your thighs, and cross both feet on the floor. “You had this platinum shade back when we first met.” 

“Did I? You still remember that?” Rosé grins at the sudden recollection, folding her glasses and sliding them into her handbag. 

“What do you want to get out of this?” You suddenly ask again, quickly running a hand across your chest to rid of the sweat riddled along your palms. 

“By this, you mean-”

“Our trip,” you amend. Here you’re pulling yourself back a bit - the duo of your luggage and hers acting as this barrier, hoping that the bags can serve as this proximity limiter for the time being. “It’s supposed to be for a week, with an option to extend for another day or so.” 

Rosé tugs the tied bun, scratching her neck to where you notice she got her nails trimmed and done. “A week in Paris doesn’t seem that bad, but planning it during the week of-” 

“Christmas was a bit of a stretch,” you wince with a hand to the back of your head, “It’s still a nice setting to think about, though. Cold weather, snowing, the cups of cocoa we’d drink together at a cafe? What else did I not think about while planning this?” 

Rosé just blinks at you, flabbergasted. She takes a second or longer to get a better look at your face, studying the shapes and curves of your frame as if it were some long-lost art piece that she had a vague familiarity with. Her breathing also slows for a bit when she drops her shoulders a bit, the discarded earbud now hanging as her eyes finally make contact with the floor, diminishing the gaze entirely. 

“Sorry. I had everything thought out for our stay,” you say casually, defeated. “I honestly wish that-” 

“Does Jennie know?” Rosé asks, leaning back into her chair. A premonition bubbling when she shares the same raised eyebrow directly back at you. 

You nod, which you’re half-right about. 

(“A work order in Paris?” Jennie asks you the morning after the first contact via phone call. She’s well aware of your passion for artistry and architecture, so playing the white lie of being ‘assigned’ to study in an attempt to further the progress of the team’s project was an idea worth rolling with. “How long are you going to be there for?” 

“No more than a week,” you answer, confident for no good reason. “Maybe a day or two more.” 

And that’s that.) 

But you zone out for a second too long. “You’re not very convincing,” says Rosé.

“She does,” you spit out again, nodding at a faster pace. “Jennie knows the surface level of this whole thing, at least.” 

“Hah,” Rosé breathes, stretching her neck with another glance. God, even the slightest sound of her laugh sounds the same as it was before - licking the rim of her lips where it meets her teeth, treating herself to the pulled cup of yogurt she bought as a snack to kill the waiting time faster. “Should’ve been honest with her,” she tells you, “I think there wouldn’t be anything wrong if you said my name in the first place instead. Lessens the risk of the possible conjecture.” 

The audacity, it makes you scoff as Rosé carries on with her meal, fixing her lips along the plastic spoon, carelessly nodding and humming while you’re twisting your attention to the passing planes in the air and the trucks rolling along the taxiway. You’re trying extremely hard to not fall into the conscious habit of looking - when the eyes are zig-zagging their way from the ceiling and to the distance of the nearby gate. Somehow, it always falls on her. Always. She’s got her jacket off to compensate for the stuffiness, honey skin radiating, the sleeves of her shirt pooling over her arms, foot underneath her other knee, delicate and unbothered. She’s a time capsule - the kind where you bury deep into the ground and never even think of uncovering years later. 

You thought you could move on, but here she is: within arms reach.  

–

If you thought sitting across from her waiting to board was torture, being next to her was extremely worse. 

Luckily, the aisle seat opened up next to yours and hers, only for it to be taken at the last possible minute, destroying any chance of creating that space between you and Rosé. This part here gets juicy: Rosé opted for the window seat and considering that the aisle was already taken, this puts you right smack in the middle of the row. She also raised the armrest set between you and her, making your final line in terms of creating a temporary vicinity practically nonexistent. Nothing will happen in a fourteen-hour flight, right? Rosé gives you the quick rundown of what she wants for her in-flight meals when she can put her legs onto your seat while you go to the restroom (and wished to stay there for the rest of the flight, but you know damn well enough that you can’t), even when she’s saying to not freak out if her head falls on your shoulder while sleeping - also, don’t mind if I grab onto your arm if I’m watching some scary movie. Every excuse seems like a death sentence added on to prolong your suffering. 

The man sitting next to you weaves the discussion about the cold air from outside being brought into the cabin, some aerospace thing about the insulation and great air conditioning, but all you can give is a forced hearty smile and these nods of agreement as his wife says something embarrassing to butt herself into the talking bubble, rolling your eyes at the pair out of spite. 

You’re giving your two cents about how you liked cold weather (out of all things to discuss for God knows why), and the couple takes your opinion well with open arms and minds. The wife leans over to see Rosé, glancing over before turning her head back to the window, putting two and two together: 

“Are you two also going to Paris for your honeymoon?” She asks, the man also taking the hint with an ‘o’ shaped mouth. 

“Uhh, that’s a bit of a tough question to answer,” you chuckle nervously as the wife makes the quick inference, carrying on with the long conversation (which was very one-sided from this point on) about how she and the man sitting next to you are so in love, their plans for their honeymoon and anniversary. You can’t help but be intrigued and infatuated with how you’re able to see love bloom right in front of your eyes. They ask you if there are any recommendations and you being the goody-two-shoes that you are, it only gets them to keep talking still. In the midst of all of this Rosé peeks over your shoulder, hand to your elbow as a sign to shut you up, but you send the same elbow back to make her stop. 

Eventually, when the plane does move onto the runway and up in the air, the couple continue their monologue of how they met, their dreams, their occupations, what they like to do in their free time, the names of their cats, where they see themselves in the next five to ten years. Rosé then looks over again, lending her ears to listen to the lovely story candidly as you see her eyes filled with so much awe and wonder; she finds it funny too, and you’re seeing what she’s seeing: because that would’ve been the case if you and her had not split. 

All the infinite possibilities you’re thinking off, it’s spilled right in front of you, and it gets you thinking. 

–

(Midway through the long flight, you’re not even getting a wink of sleep when Rosé’s tossing and turning in the seat next to you. Some are watching assorted movies, you could hear a kid cry a few rows back, the usual experience. 

Her knee hits your thigh as you’re scooting your butt away from her, unwilling to make a shape with her body, pulling the complimentary blanket up to her neck. 

“Did you ever think of getting first class for the trip?” She asks, irritated. “My seat’s getting kicked from behind, and I can’t put my feet on the ground.” 

“I’d be paying an additional two hundred or more to get it reserved,” you tell her, making yourself as comfortable as you can, leaning the seat back. “The next best thing was econ, so deal with it.” 

She rests her head on the upper part of your arm, eye mask on and everything, falling asleep soon after.) 

–

Upon the arrival gate, you do manage to get a few hours of shut-eye, backpack in hand and a trailing Rosé behind when crossing over the inside of the airport, voice conveniently drowning out the same kid who was crying not long ago during the flight. 

“I can’t believe you let me sleep for six hours. Six hours.” you’re complaining, and rightfully so. “Look at you, who managed to sleep for pretty much the whole time. I had to take it on the chin, listening to their entire life story when I could’ve watched whatever you were watching while you were snoring away.” 

Rosé has her shades on, hiding a bit of her puffy face and eye bags. “So? What’s it to ya? I’m not the one who decided to lean over and eavesdrop on their lovely conversation.” 

“I was checking if our row was in the correct spot.” 

She chuckles. “Yeah yeah, keep coming up with the lame excuses buddy.” 

“You-” 

“Try every alibi you’ve got in the book, but I know you well,” says Rosé victoriously, sideswiping her way in front of you on the auto walk, rolling her small hand carry around to sit on, taking a breath. She rolls her neck around, stretching - an arm at a weird angle facing down, extending her leg between your feet. Personal space was going to be an issue, you’ve already drawn up that conclusion; considering that you sat with her for roughly about fourteen to sixteen hours with the occasional retreat to the bathroom and the awkward indulgence with one of the flight attendants, you dread how the living situation will be once you and her get to the hotel room. This might be hell for you, but only time will tell which circle you’re finding yourself in. 

“That should not have taken you that long to get our thing set up together,” Rosé lightly berates, handing over her luggage to you once you’ve hailed the provided ride accommodation from the travel company. “If I were the one handling this trip, I would’ve hit points x, y, and z in less time than you. Do you not know the basic cues to kill a conversation?” 

You don’t answer. Because arguing isn’t gonna get you anywhere with her. 

(Telling yourself lies was a strength, but also your curse as well. Somehow you keep getting away with it.) 

You roll your eyes at the rhetorical question, placing all the bags into the trunk of the cab. “C’mon, don’t play the bad cop here. You know damn well that I’ve always been terrible at getting myself out of situations like those. It also didn’t help that she and the couple on the plane sounded so upbeat and enthusiastic.” 

“It’s okay,” Rosé says, patting your shoulder as a form of truce. “Besides, that’s how you met me technically.” She gets into the cab soon after, settling into the backseat. 

And you take a second to internalize the said phrase, scanning the horizon of the cityscape in the backdrop. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you’re muttering to yourself, getting into the cab with Rosé, with most of the ride pretty much quiet as you’re both looking out the opposite windows. 

–

For some added context, Rosé waltzed into your life on a random Tuesday morning in the first week of fifth grade. 

It’s something straight out of a coming-of-age movie or slow-burning romance novel: up until that point, you’ve had boys as your deskmates through the grades with one of them being your close friend going forward. 

She would change all of that - a bit pathetic now that you’re looking back at it: her being the first girl that you would ever talk to let alone sit next to you for the entire school year - but you didn’t mind though, since she was easy to get along with. 

As the days turned into months and into years, you and Rosé shared everything and in between with each other. From exchanging your favorite cartoon shows on a Saturday afternoon when there was no homework, which subject was the favorable one to learn, favorite colors, why she didn't like playing sports compared to you, the blown-out-of-proportion drama over who was the popular girl in school at the time, the score you got on the last math test, what were you going to do over the summer break. There was never a moment where you or she filled in on anything worth sharing. 

Rosé knows everything about you inside and out. The same could be said for your end of the table. 

You’ve created the progressive drawn-up schematic well into high school. Her occasional gossip debriefs, the endless rants about that one teacher who would always give her a hard time, whether or not she should go to the dances (dragging you as her plus one, where she came extremely close to back in junior year), worrying about her near-perfect grades to the point she would overcomplicate every single minute detail that pops up with every last check before turning in an assignment. Then, there’s the crushes. Her occasional flings - to which, she had multiples of them, telling all of the unnecessary details of what she did with the guys on every date, sharing with you all the pros and cons of what her ideal type is. 

But here’s the thing. 

She was giving you all the signals for you to not notice. All the boxes in her list where you checked off nearly every single one of them. The realization itself came to you on a late night when she was passed out on the coffee table, papers on top of papers of notes before college admissions being submitted, turning a blind eye away from the few bottles of soju she consumed to power through even when you said that it was a terrible idea. 

The small intake of alcohol helped you connect the dots right then and there: you were in love with her. 

Playing it safe was the name of the game. And on your part, it was justified to keep yourself at a distance from Rosé, not putting any sort of risk in ruining the long friendship you’ve built with her. Why lay everything on the line with someone who occupied half of your brain already? 

“You won’t know unless the leap of faith has been made,” Lisa says to you at the time, and that's probably the only source of assurance you ever needed to hear. 

So, you make that leap.

A simple line or two is all you said where Rosé’s eyes go wide when you see her off at the front of her house, nothing else to be said when her weight collapses on top of you for an overdue hug. Talk about romantic confessions, am I right? 

Once word went around various friend groups the both of you were in, it didn’t come off as much of a surprise. Most people had already made that conclusive pairing long before you started to read into the social cues and fast glances without you knowing. What mattered in the end was that you were finally with her after all this time. 

It could’ve been written in ink right there and then: she was your first crush, first girlfriend, first kiss, first relationship, first love. 

That should have been the end of the story. The greatest score you could ever pull off in your life. Job done. 

–

(Until it wasn’t. She would eventually be the first terrible heartbreak you would ever have to endure. 

First time for everything, remember?”)

–

“You’re kidding.” Rosé deadpans, walking into the open space of the hotel room, scanning. Her first reaction then shifts once she drops her bags right where they are, walking around the singular king-size bed, showered in rose petals formed into a heart with two towels folded up into quaint but cute swans resting with both of their beaks touching at the top. “You can’t be serious.” 

Your hands go straight into your pockets, the corners of your lips pulled flat, indifferent. “Isn’t it the thought that counts?” 

Rosé bears no mind to your bland answer. Granted, she’s partial to the fact of going through this whole trip with you, patting the head of the towel swan before turning her attention to the table at the corner of the room, a bottle of champagne kept cool in an ice bath. “I’ll give you points for the effort,” she sighs, “Care to tell me how much you paid for everything in this room?” 

The cork goes flying once you lay your bearings, approaching her as she pours the golden liquid into the arranged champagne flutes, handing it over before she spills some of it over the counter on her own.

“I put in a request, that’s all.” She nods in acknowledgment while you take a nice, quick swig of the beverage, hoping to let it sting in your throat as you try to ignore the insane price tag, gazing past the window and to the nearby buildings. “Some of the stuff was extra, well, perks and all.” 

“That so?” Rosé breathes, chuckling. You watch her down an impressive amount, humming at the taste. There’s an old film happening here, impossible to ignore. Her hair’s a little messed up, eyelids dropping low. You have to stand down here, don’t get any funny ideas, tilting your head slightly when the glow of the streetlights below hit her face, radiating, see her lip pulled back between her teeth-

Snapping your attention back to the city skyline was a good mental call. Clearing your throat was even better; anything worth grabbing to consolidate. 

You look over again to see a smile from the side, “It’s so beautiful at night.” 

A pretty sweet view to turn back on, and you agree with her. 

“I’ll go shower first,” Rosé says after clearing her throat, “We’ve had a long day anyway.” 

“Yeah, go on ahead.” 

She then puts her flute back on the table before walking back to her suitcase. You keep your body forward and your feet where they’re at, looking out into the city some more until you eventually hear the shower running. The thought crosses your head again, thinking about all of the things you did to get into this position - moments where you failed to think logically, it’s a mess in your head at this point. 

(Of all people, why did it have to be her? Being practically stranded in the city of love is one thing, but, maybe this is God or the universe trying to make good for your sake - who knows, only time will tell.)

–

This journey may be an ascent to a refined sense of closure or a descent back down into hell; how you look at it is entirely up to you. 

“Do you think I’m contagious or something?” Rosé huffs out in annoyance, tossing a nearby pillow in your direction, forcing you to look up at her sitting upright on the bed - you on the couch at the other end, hoping to create some distance in whatever way you can possible. “The bed’s big enough for the two of us.” 

“I find it better to not entertain that risk.” 

“You slept on the floor in my room multiple times.” 

“Okay I- you- well,” you stutter, words bouncing all over the place as your fingers grip tight into the book in your hands, “that’s different.” 

Rosé then folds her legs up, knees resting underneath her chin. You’re lucky that the reading light hanging over your spot is enough to hide the growing heat of red rising to your cheeks. Ever since she was the one to end things four years ago, contact with Rosé had been pretty much nonexistent, and for good reason. It was already hard to lose your best friend and past lover in one go, but here she is again acting like nothing had happened between you two. Maybe she’s doing what you did: engaging in conversation - though every dreadful second has been painstakingly difficult, looking back to see her head go sideways, an inquisitive gaze written all over her face, the small quirk at the corner of her lip every time she smiles - in your eyes, she’s still the same as before, there’s no difference. 

“It’s not a risk,” Rosé says, placing her head back up against the headboard, “I’m just saying that the couch over there looks uncomfortable.” 

“I’ll manage. Thanks.” 

Rosé then grabs another pillow within her reach, and places it beneath her forearms, straightening out her legs on the bed. “Idiot,” she hisses, the tone almost as a projection. 

That catches your attention: her attitude. She looks away when you twist your head towards her again. “What was that?” 

“Nothing,” she pouts, “I was just trying to get some talking going.” 

Look, playing defensive isn’t wrong by any means. Tactically, that’s the best way to approach things that you’re unfamiliar with. Rosé’s mannerisms, her habits, the quirks she does, you have every trick from her in your personal playbook. You can try to run and hide all you want, but sometimes taking things head-on is the only way to go. 

Rosé here is just- existing. You can tell that she’s far removed from creating any sort of effort into talking; aware of the lingering tension and awkwardness she left all those years ago. Above all that, she carries on with her one-sided conversation - which is sort of relieving to listen to, just hearing her voice, rambling about anything and literally everything that she could bring up. There’s that quick recollection of all the instances, all the times where she would tell you about the countless things where shutting up wasn’t an option. Her outlook on life hasn’t changed, and you admire that she’s bright and passionate about how things work in the world. 

“It’s a bit relieving,” you tell her innocently, “you here reminding me of those days.” 

Nostalgia was something worth decoding between the lines, and Rosé knows this. There’s nothing wrong with filling in what you’ve done in the past year or two, moving on after what you originally thought was the toughest period of your life. Protecting your peace, prioritizing your health - that kind of thing. 

“I know that I left you in a really bad place for so long,” she implies, coming to terms for her actions. Hoping to not open up the old wound, sugarcoating it. 

“We were at different points in our lives,” you console. You’re not so entirely sure of yourself if it’s the alcohol talking or the foundations of your inner walls crumbling. “I just thought that-” 

“Don’t.” Rosé commands, crossing her arms over the pillow. “Don’t.” 

“Okay, but still - I just wished that it didn’t have to end that way.” 

It goes and it goes. Rosé keeps her gaze fixed on you as you’re nodding, mindful of what the words are but not saying it. Instead, you keep it lighthearted and put it in a positive perspective and it may be worthy of a few snaps of her fingers.

The late-night convos are a little relaxing, so you’ll take that as a plus. 

–

The first ‘actual’ day of the trip is pretty uneventful. 

Nothing too substantial to report other than the fact it was a mix of cloudy skies and rain from time to time. 

Rosé insisted on following the itinerary, walking around the streets, and trying out various cafes handpicked by her. Then there’s the usual landmarks within walking distance too: the Arc de Triomphe, the Grand Palais, and no point in going to the Eiffel Tower since there was zero visibility at the top, so you divert to the Notre Dame Cathedral and try again a different day when the weather clears up. 

(Without a care in the world, she runs up the sidewalk and turns around, arms wide open: “We’re not in Kansas anymore are we?

You give her a face of genuine confusion, “What?” Her face falls flat and you’re left there saying: “What.”) 

Aside from the good food and everything around you picturesque and as ‘fresh inspiration’, Rosé takes this opportunity to capture whatever stood out to her: candid pictures of you on film, other city goers doing their everyday routine, in addition to the photos she took at the different landmarks. She has you taking pictures of her, not as a possible memento. No. But you can’t turn her down whatsoever - you just can’t. 

–

(All of that is about to change, and the rain starts to pick up well into the evening. In the figurative scheme of things, you could put this as the heart of the storm; the moment where lighting can strike twice in the same spot. It could happen.)

- 

Somehow the sim card in your phone keeps bugging out every few hours or so. The reception around the city hasn’t been that bad per se, but trying to get some calls back home has been a bit of a pain - so you had to work with what you got. Texting was the second best option for reaching Jennie, hoping that you can keep the act up by keeping her in the loop of this whole getaway. So far the messages have been casual, typical fill-ins of her day since you left, missing you. 

To compensate for the international phone rates, you managed to find a payphone. An odd surprise at best and you suppose that it shouldn’t take forever in the booth, but the pitter-patter of the droplets hitting along the glass gave a small indication that this might take longer than expected. 

The line continues to ring for a second or two longer, and then- 

Click. 

The silence becomes a slight worry, fingers gripping the phone, hoping that you could hear a hum - or that lovely violet voice that sends your heart thrumming right from the first letter. 

Instead, you hear her laugh, and a sigh soon after. It might’ve been a moan as well, you know that much. 

Another voice picks up at the end of the call, one that you’re very not familiar with: “Hel- Hello? Who’s this? Jennie, I think it’s your-” 

There’s no fucking way. 

Everything around the booth starts to fade in and out of focus. Rational thought was still in play, but barely - trying to put all of the little pieces together in a short amount of time. It’s not enough. Your jaw tightens, fighting the blood simmering through your veins. There’s too many questions to be asked, but only a few answers to take. You’re not entirely sure what these wave of emotions actually are - and it could be a lot of things: anger, fear, rage, sadness? 

“Shit. Give me the- hello?” Jennie’s voice tries to calm you, but it’s already too late for that. “Wait, it’s not what you think it is, I swear-” 

“I think I’ve heard enough from you.” 

“Babe, if you just let me explain-” 

You don’t think twice about hanging up. Your mind doesn’t even register the pain being imbued into your hands when you’re punching the glass furiously in quick succession. Hell, when you leave the booth, the realization has slowly started to set in, but the tears simply won’t come out. 

I thought you were different. 

The rain falls a lot harder now that you’ve finally stepped outside and look up to the dark sky, as if the universe is sharing its sorrowfulness as well. 

You were supposed to be different.

–

If you had the chance to put all of your thoughts and feelings from your past relationships into a bottle or glass, you’d drink it down until there’s absolutely nothing at the bottom; the pain might’ve been tolerable then. No matter how many shots it’s been, it’s still not enough. 

You don’t even remember when you first walked into the bar, but you order another shot anyway. The coat next to you still needs a few more minutes to dry up as it is. 

The alcohol stings when it travels down your throat, mind working way past overtime - thinking back of all the times when you’ve been duped, deceived, exploited - but to no avail. It's a bit pathetic that the worst kinds of people show up when you least expect it, even if it's those who you hold close dearly to your heart. Relationships and commitment to you have always been complicated; an unwritten cosmic law etched into the stars. 

In hindsight, it just really fucking sucks. 

It’s gotten so bad to the point where you’re being woken up after passing out for maybe five or ten or so minutes. You don’t remember. Your memory is in these black patches - rough blots of ink with no detail underneath as your vision slowly forms. A girl is next to you; a calm, soothing voice bringing you closer to the light. Everything’s still blurry, but you can barely make out the silhouette: dark hair, fine skin, smooth palm holding your face. It’s comforting, you start to question if this was the present reality, but you take a shot in the dark:

“Jennie?” you say, mind buzzed and speech slurred. 

“No. Dingus.” 

Ah, it was worth a shot. You can see things a lot more clearer now. Instead of the shaded dark hair, it’s the opposite: hot blonde. The texture of the jacket too is also familiar, her hand is surprisingly wet from the rain, and she sounds out of breath - like she ran here. 

Rosé. 

“What the hell happened to you?” She asks, distressed, holding your face before lightly shoving it away realizing what she was doing.

You try your best to explain the situation; but considering the plethora of drinks you had on the tab along with the alcohol in your system, you don’t actually explain anything at all. 

She could only hear the sniffles coming out of your nose. 

Rosé then takes a second look, and puts another piece of the damage together. It’s all over your face: the puffy eyes, bloodied knuckles, your irises once filled with light now an empty, deep void - like something sucked the life right out of you. 

“Something happened with Jennie, no?” The name pierces your heart at the guiltless inquiry.

“Kinda,” you answer with a hiccup at the end. “It’s all the same between me and love, honestly.” 

Rosé then draws back, your face still in her hands, internalizing the present state. You think she might’ve realized a thought right then and there, an instance where she's been before not long ago. It doesn’t take that much more for her to learn what you had done to get here; let alone who managed to hurt you in the first place. Because she’s been here before, and she now knows what her mistake was two years ago. 

So instead of running away, she pulls you in for a hug. You break down a little harder for a moment. No point in hiding. 

She doesn’t say anything after leaning back. The best form of comfort she could give were both palms to your cheeks, wiping the dried-up tears off as best as she could. Somehow you barely even manage to make eye contact with her again, afraid to even look away in the first place. 

You’re not sure if you leaned in or if she pulled you back to her, but your mind clears up instantly the second she kisses you. 

Her lips are the same way as you remember them: nice and soft and undeniably comforting. Both of her hands keep you in place, the wistful inhale of her nose matches yours, wanting more of this rising heat spreading across your faces. She kisses like she missed you and- in a partly true way, for all the wrong reasons. Gripping and clutching wherever she can, afraid to let go of you again like the last time. You or her could practically melt in this little pocket created and recall sometime later and try to decipher every little individual action leading up to this, whether or not to write this off as an act of grace or an admission of cruelty - one or the other will have you sinking at the end. 

Rosé stops herself, eyes half-lidded, pulling her swollen bottom lip like some sort of warning. 

“I uh-” Crap. You should’ve known better, but you can’t help or blame the drinks for making you like this. “I-I’m sorry. You didn’t have to-” 

“It’s okay.” 

“But-” 

“C’mon,” she persists, holding your hand and nodding her head sideways, “let’s get out of here.” 

–

You’re more aware of your actions now, in the late hours of the city - where anyone could get away with anything. With that taken into account, this is the perfect time to hide away; out of anybody’s sight and the risk of getting caught is the least of your worries. 

Rosé’s nose bumps yours when you’ve pressed her against the brick wall in some alley - calming every form of impulse as you could, but it’s futile. Her arms wrap around your neck and you’re cupping her face, tilting her head up to elicit a gasp between her lips. 

“Fuck,” she rasps, and it’s pretty when she curses. Her hands go everywhere, haywire. A last act of desperation she does is dig her fingers into the back of your head, only making your arms pull her in closer, hindering the purpose of what she’s trying to achieve. You’d let her, and that’s exactly what she’s going for here. 

“I’m a bit drunk still,” you admit, feeling the tips of her fingers graze along the nape of your neck. “So don’t beat me up if I can’t remember everything after tonight.” 

Rosé’s hand shifts to your jaw, kissing you again so easily; giving you little to no time to react. Like she’s coaxing you into thinking differently that’s better than your common sense. A few more smacks here and there happen, the cool air surrounding both of you trying to flush the heat out. 

The press of her face is anything out of the ordinary, humming into your mouth that deepens the sinking pit happening in your stomach. It isn’t anything new. 

Because that’s the impending phase of her slowly coming back to light. She was always vocal and forward with how she took on the world; leaving a mark of what she had done not far either. Her hands cup your face so tenderly, and each longing touch of her lips against yours sends a tidal wave of memories flooding back - this entity that’s all-consuming where you could only handle so much, a hand to the side of her throat where the kiss deepens, surrendering your mind to hers

Maybe it was the timing of everything, a thought to theorize with once it’s all said and done. 

“You’re broken again,” she whispers between your lips. 

“Among other things,” you darted back, sighing slowly and head lowered. But it’s the truth. “Yeah, won’t say any more.” Your eyes meet hers as you slowly retreat. 

“It’s okay.” Rosé concludes, eyes filled with so much care and empathy into them, thumb grazing along your cheek, cleaning another dry trail from the tears. “You have me.” 

My god, this woman- 

“I honestly convinced myself that you’d already moved on,” her gaze goes crestfallen, pulling her lips inward. “To think that I left you there by yourself, after everything we’ve been through. It ruined me too since - it wasn’t even your fault to begin with.” 

You swallow your pride and turn yourself over on the wall. 

Most of your mind is drawing blanks - bits and pieces of the picture caricatured through a warm mouth and fingertips. The draft in itself is a bit fucked up, sketched at the last possible minute; hands ghosting your jacket, tracing a line or two into the fabric of your shirt, trailing lower along the waistband of your pants. “You’re kidding, right?” 

Rosé snorts at the whisper, lowering her eyelids when she’s peppering your neck again with kisses. “We’re not having a problem here are we?” She says that as she’s descending to her knees, looking up so innocently like some angel incarnate - contradicting the current action she’s presenting right now.  

“Look. Rosé, we really shouldn't-” 

She pays no attention to the pleading when she’s palming your length through your underwear, thumb sliding up against the underside while your other hand settles with hers set at the side of your thigh. “Okay, I mean - like this is just wrong - you don’t- god, why are you even-” 

Rosé here, doesn’t give you any chance to breathe or recuperate the fast flow of thoughts. Her eyes remain unimpressed with a tilt of her head, closing in with the newly uncovered area at your waist, and the twist of her lips brings forth a sense that’s been lost to hidden waves of time. 

She inhales, coaxing you much to the point where you’re looking up to the sky above for some safe passage. 

“Mmmmm.” 

You might as well be fucked from this point on. At least you’ll play into the game Rosé’s putting up with her mouth all over you. 

“Oh, oh fuck-” 

It’s all in the simple movements and adjustments - the hair being pulled back to the cuff of her ear, the way she bottoms your cock down to the base and rests for a second, the graze of her teeth across the topside, sending your hips chasing for more of that addicting bite. She hollows out her cheeks to the right pressure of suction, bracing her hands on your thighs as she begins to pick up a steady rhythm. Down, side to side, then up. Down, side to side, then up. You could picture her lashes fluttering with every slide down your shaft, humming right along the skin as if she’s proffering a way of reflecting, praising with little to no words but with plump lips and a warm tongue. 

“Gotta say,” Rosé starts, after reeling back for a second, “I remembered why I loved this cock so much.” 

You’ve got her hair in the grips of your fingers, thrusting your cock back past those pretty lips, hoping to shove her words right back down her throat - which works so much better than you initially expected. The brain is working triple the amount of overtime to register and compensate for the endless rush of stimulation your body is getting; the buzz of the alcohol fading with every new layer of spit lathered across the length, watching Rosé’s head continue to bob at a faster pace between your legs. She doesn’t let you off that easily when her hand coils itself at the base, the other cradling your balls with the right amount of pressure - prompting you to use both of your hands to grip her head, making the motion as seamless as possible. You could feel her throat go slack, opening up the edges to where your cock can fill in the space - the gags alone break above the audible ambiance of rain hitting the ground beneath the both of you. 

“Fuck me.” And at this point, your level of thinking is so thrown under limbo. The sounds alone are music to your ears. A lost tune waiting to be heard again. Wanting. “Rosé, you-” 

“Ummphgh,” is all you manage to get out of her, the spit and slippery slick of her mouth the only point of contact. You look down and see it in her eyes: glassy and welled up; like was meant to be used like this, a vessel to provide and clean up the mess of every lap her tongue makes to your underside and the seam of your balls. An angel like her, her wings clipped after committing a damming act, hoping to earn them back in any way she can. When you slide your cock out of her slack mouth - slap the member across her swollen lips, eyes closed and jaw lowered as you’re leaving behind the sloppy and unmarked territory that you’ll come back to not long after.  

She nods and gags. You want to make her fucking choke.  

All of this should be drawn up as a one-off, never to be spoken of again. She didn’t have to go this far, being on her knees for you like this. Neither of you owe anything to each other. Some of this might have some meaning carried with the way that Rosé speaks with her eyes, mixed with a concoction of want and sorrowfulness, opening her mouth so wide for you to take with no remorse.

And when you cum deep into her throat, it’s all in her eyebrows - the way she accepts, poisoning your morality just like that. 

The pulses do die down eventually, and Rosé tilts her head to the side to give you a better look at her swallowing your release; wiping her lip in a slight relishment, damp hair falling in front and her fingers dancing along the line of her jaw - internalizing the rewarding ache. Her eyes shimmer in the low lighting, her skin covered in this spreading glow of pale and glistening. Most of her lip gloss is gone, now mixed with the layer of smeared spit all over your cock. You’re cradling her head delicately, thumb grazing the temple and some of the ends of her hair, giving you a list of things to fix. 

Rosé smacks her lips, and runs her tongue against the upper profile of her teeth. “Well then,” she starts, “hope that was enough to calm your nerves for the time being.” 

You’re trying extremely hard to slow your breathing, watching while she brings a wrist to her face, wiping up the damage. 

“We’re so fucked up,” you barely say, clearing your throat. 

“Between us?” Rosé implies, finally rising from her knees and patting your shoulders down as an out-of-touch way to comfort, “That’s old news, buddy.” 

You pull her in a bit again, placing the distance of her face to yours a little over the double digits. There’s no point in ignoring her gravity, the way that you find yourself a tad magnetized, bringing out a side where it was for her and only her. She could be an entity of a higher being, probably God’s given gift from himself which you once had lost. A blessing and curse that’s managed to find their way back into your arms again. 

“Now that I think about it,” you’re saying, combing some of her blonde locks before ghosting your hand just above her head, “You’ve always been the same as before.” 

Rosé’s eyelids dip, peculiar, curious. That sly grin at the corner of her lip laced with the dimple trailing not far after, it’ll do you numbers. It’s happened before. 

But she puts a hand to the side of your face, a soft smile to seal the whole act up as she starts to peel away. “Think you can walk to the hotel in a straight line without my help?” 

“You’re gonna leave me outside if you get there first.” You answer jokingly. 

She might as well if she wanted to, and you won’t be that far behind. 

—

Hangovers. They’re the worst. 

Normally in times like these: you’d lie in bed facing up to the ceiling, playing back all the events and instances in your mind to the best of your ability, and then get washed by the feeling of regret or questions of why you did actions a, b, and c. Fuck around and find out they say, that’s how the learning experience goes. 

Although this would be the exception- 

“That’s all it took for you? Just the voice by itself?” Rosé asks you the morning after, tending to the wounds on your hands, easily stacked at the wrists, and caring for them with a mother’s touch. “If it were me, I would’ve hung up by the first five seconds of silence.” 

“Here’s the thing: I’m not you.” 

Rosé rolls her eyes and puts the attention back to your knuckles. She grazes them with her fingertips once the dried-up blood has been washed away and sealed with a bandage. Her hands alone may look small, but the size has been apparent compared to yours. “You broke the glass from that payphone booth, didn’t you?” 

“If I kept retelling you what I did, would you believe me by then?” You ask flatly. 

“I’m just-” she stutters for a second when she zips up the first aid kit, “-surprised, honestly - and don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen you angry before. I didn’t expect it to be that serious.” 

“Wow. Way to beat around the bush I guess.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I know you are. Slightly.” 

Rosé leans back to get more of you in view, examining the new patches to cover the temporary pain left because of your actions. The repercussions don’t have to be said when it’s already shown. Good thing you brought gloves for a reason - a proper excuse to keep your hands warm when the weather gets colder. 

“Are you okay?” She asks after a brief period of silence. 

Your head twists back towards her. “Hm?” 

“I’m being genuine. Are you okay?” she says to you again, this time leaning to place her elbows on the table. “When I picked you up from the bar, you looked wrecked.” 

“Which I was. So, you’re not entirely wrong here.” 

Rosé then curls her fingers, resting her chin on top of them. Her eyes were full of concern. She doesn’t have to do all this - the nice, good girl willing to reconnect and rekindle even though you and her both know that things ended in a rough patch prior. She didn’t have to agree to go on the trip with you, but the intentions here are good - for the most part. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The inquiries from her keep on coming. 

“I think we should come back to this topic when I’m in a better headspace,” you tell her, and she doesn’t bother asking anymore. “What about-” 

“Huh?” 

“I was gonna say something about, well-” you clear your throat before wiping the lower half of her face before finding the right words to deliver the next topic, “last night when we-” 

“Don’t expect you to remember much. Being drunk is a valid excuse,” she tells you, crossing her arms together with a little furrow in her brows. “One-time thing. No strings attached. Got it?” 

“Are you sure?” 

She nods convincingly. “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

“Okay,” you murmur, massaging your temple. 

“Okay,” Rosé echoes, knocking on wood twice for good luck. “I say we go out then.” 

“What? Where to?” You dart back while she stands up from the seat, shuffling away to her luggage. “Uh, hey-” 

Rosé snorts a bit, lets out a hearty laugh, one full of pure mischief. “I’m hungry. And we can put off room service for another time.” 

–

“How many cafes have we been to in the past hour?” you’re asking Rosé, jaw dropped at the abundance of people waiting for their coffee orders ahead of you two. “Jesus, with this amount of caffeine, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.” 

Rosé’s head turns, sipping the last bits of her beverage from the previous place you two were at, shaking the cup now full of ice. “Don’t give me that.” She laughs. “Jisoo was the one who recommended the places to me.” Her head leans back to get a few ice cubes in her mouth since the crunches are satisfying to her. “If anything, it’s your fault that you can’t keep up with-” 

“I’d rather prioritize my health than drain it all away with a lot of drinks and a heart condition.” you sigh, taking the hint of her waving the cup in front of you to throw out, looking back out to listen for the number of your order. (They’ve been alternating from counting into the high forties and low twenties. It’s all confusing how any of this is efficient.) “Though the pastries and drinks have been amazing to try, so I thank you.” 

She looks up at you again, flipping some of her back over her shoulder, flaunting a little shimmy of her shoulders. Like she’s aware of the praise, the compliments, the credit, and everything else lying underneath the verbal nuances. “Perks of having me as your foodie guide for the tour.” 

“You’re so stupid,” you say, gaze dropping down to your feet in disappointment. 

A nudge to your shoulder is all she gives before turning her body away. “Such a bitch.” 

“Preaching the truth,” you reply - a hum in the timbre, playing into the banter. “That’s why they paired both of us together: toothbrush and toothpaste. peas in a pod-” 

You flinch a bit when she raises a hand, but you can’t help yourself to laugh as she surrenders the idea of making a scene in public. It’s all good fun in the end, a breath of fresh air. 

Then the matcha order gets called up, perfect timing. 

–

You and Rosé do celebratory cheers with the clear plastic cups, swirl the tea inside before drinking a good third of it down, nod, and acknowledge the amount in addition to the taste. She then asks you to give it a rating - where you place it pretty high on the given scale. 

“That’s really good,” you say, wetting your lips for another sip. 

“What’d I tell you?” Rosé asks after, all comfy with her drink in both hands, watching you take in another swig because why not? “This place might be the best one on the list.” 

“You mean Jisoo’s list,” you tease. “But sure, you can claim this list as yours since she’s not here to protest against it.” 

“Right. I’ll do exactly that.” 

You take notice of the same gaze that she’s been holding for the past few minutes now. It’s probably too late to realize that it's a honey trap: the more that your curiosity gets the best of you, the more likely that you’ll forget about everything else. A good look at her rosy cheeks, the stray strands of blonde hair sticking out because of the fuzziness that her scarf is emitting, much to the point that you can’t even see her neck beneath all of that. 

“Sorry,” you’re saying, leaning your head sideways more to get a closer look. Nobody’s falling for it, especially not her. “There’s a stain right about-” 

Rosé keeps her hands right where they are in holding the drink, eyes glued to your hand ghosting her face, the slightest touch where you’re cupping her jaw to keep it in place. You do manage to get the small mess off but make no other move. 

She turns her head slightly towards your hand, parting her lips; and a part of your head starts to flip internally. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” Rosé proposes, you think it’s intentional like she wanted you to do that. You can see it in her alluring shade of whiskey, clouded with mystery, shrouding a burning sensation behind those irises, blinking prettily. 

“If I told you, it won’t happen later.” 

“Oh yeah?” Rosé tuts, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth, and dips her head a few inches. “I’m intrigued,” her voice is a witch’s spell. She scoots herself towards you, closing the bubble away from the world, the moment alone stretched longer than usual. 

“I shouldn’t kiss you,” you tell her, practicing caution. A last reminder thrown up in an imaginary white flag. 

“But you could, right?” Rosé says in the sheerest hint of innocence, but the message says all sorts of corruption, "Where's the harm in that?” 

Setting yourself up for the mind-meld was always a tall task, especially with a girl like Rosé. You could rationalize how the universe has managed to put you on this tightrope, with no hope of making it to the ends; the only choice would be to embrace this fall from grace, and feel every emotion. 

She inches closer, the intent clear as day. “Y’know,” the tension is already hanging low amongst the both of you, “I’d be okay with it.” 

–

(Look. Saving yourself the embarrassment was always going to be a lost cause. Consider it as a premonition, the tug of anticipation of playing things out the way they are, rewind the clip or recording to catch something new every take; a wish to alter the cause and effect. No matter how you look at it, what’s done is done.) 

–

The intimacy itself gets thrown out the window, and finding a proper hold would be a lesser worry to think about. Rosés frantically slithering out of her overcoat, biting your lip in what you assume is an accident, and pressing her into the wall catches her off guard and she bumps into your face. Your thumbs are at her cheeks, holding her face in place, and the hooded eyes get pulled away; you’re thinking, she’s thinking -  and all she can say is, “don’t start having second thoughts now.” It’s another green light from her to pick up where you left off, feel her arms have no sense of direction until they finally rest around the crooks of your neck and shoulders, quick draws of air passing through each other’s lips until you and her eventually fill in that space once more. 

Even if there’s no label between you two now, the knowledge is already present there in the low lights. 

“Let me remind you,” you’re telling her, smiling as her tongue clashes with yours, scrunching up your neck as her hands are working fast to slip you out of your top. “You started this.” 

Her chin tilts up, grazing the peak of your jaw, lips trained on yours and kissing like it’s second nature; since she exactly remembers how to wind you up, unraveling. The scrunch of your neck goes away once the top falls along the floor, making out with you for what feels like it’s been forever. 

“Maybe I did,” says Rosé, landing another kiss on the line of your chin, hand caressing the back of your head, unwilling to let go of you. “And can I be honest? I don’t hear you complaining about it.” 

“Now why would I?” 

She leans back against the drywall, arm up as if you were holding her by the wrist, but you aren’t - at least, not yet. Puffs her chest up with the help of the arch behind. “That’s the question,” she answers, hand palming the seat of your pants, fingers curling slightly, “That’s always the question.” 

A window of opportunity is here. You can see it. She could lay out all the hints in front of you and you wouldn’t need all of them to figure her out, because you know: she loves being so forward, only for her to be held down, give her little to no wiggle room where her hands can leave major damage, the teasing; you’ll shut her mouth up with a pillow to her face or your hand and watch her eyes crunch together until she breaks. There’ll be times when she wants to rush, and you’d go slow, then vice versa. The grip you have on her hip isn’t nice, and you’ll keep kissing her, be very meticulous in the approach, and make her go insane. 

Her muscles, let alone her body tense at the touch, shying a smile away as if she’s afraid to admit it herself. “But I gotta say,” Rosé whispers, her breath canvassing over your lips. “Doesn’t this feel nostalgic? Like old times?” 

And here is where you’re practicing plausible deniability: since she’s right. A brief flash of all the times; all the instances that occurred in the past. She’s got her shirt off, and it helps jog the memory a lot more too - how you’d hold her down and just revel in the whimpering noises that escape her mouth, embracing every acre of her body; it’d be so easy to mold into her, you know from experience. 

“Okay seriously,” Rosé’s saying, the rush of bliss spilling all over her face when your hands trail up and down the sides of her waist. The smile she’s bearing is a whole lot more apparent now the more your mouth is left slack open, eyes ogling without doing a single blink. “I forgot how you like to take your sweet ass time in adoring me - fuck, it’s even worse when you’re not even saying anything, like, at all, I swear to God, please, just-” 

You’re paying no attention as you’re scouting out the different pieces that need peeling away off her figure. The shirt’s already off from the start. You manage to stop your hands from dancing along the waistline of her pants, hold her leg up as you’re pulling from the cuff at the bottom, keep her second-guessing with a few kisses to her stomach, brush your nose along the lace of her panties and scrape a bit of your forehead into the line of her bra. There might be something wrong with you; but hey, she’s on the same boat as well. 

Once all of that’s off and disregarded, you’re claiming long lost territory - marking up everywhere to be examined at the scene of the crime when it’s all done and dusted: her chest, her neck, the collarbones, her nipples already primed to the point, the subtle hint of muscle in the abs, you’re finding a way back. 

Rosé’s breathing is heavy with heat over your ear now, palming her pussy folds now exposed to the open air. “Yes - okay. Okay. I get it- jesus,” she’s stuttering as the reaction starts to traverse throughout her body. Your fingers are dancing along the dangerous area, playing with fire. You can remember the nerves being so responsive, and electric, it’s beautiful to watch in real time. “Look- you win, I’ll help. Whatever you need. I’ll do it.” 

“That so?” you ask. She’s holding herself in place as best she can along with your hand, an acknowledgment, take account of the slick soaking the grooves of your fingers. You kiss her and smile against her lips - teetering on the edge of cruelty and excitement. “Jokes on you sweetheart, I knew you’d always be good for me.” 

The devil is already in the details: pinning her to the wall and burying your fingers into her cunt. She keens when you slip in one finger, then two. Her sighs, singing this harmony that urges this need for it to be silenced; so you get your lips to the line of her collarbone - or, her lips resting right above the cuff of your ear, leg curling to the backside of your thigh, rising to the end of your ass. You let it slide when she pulls you in deeper into her body with her arms, the weight of your front crushing her chest a bit, which she’s okay with. 

“There.” Rosé does a mix of a bob and a shake of her head, “yes, oh-” 

You’re building an idea. One that hasn’t seen the light in your mind ever since the preceding one was ripped apart from you so suddenly. She keeps on gasping as you find the spots - the familiar ones where you’ve killed her before, pressing deeper and deeper into the stretch of that satisfying warmth spreading into your hand. The trembling in her body is already a stark implication of your craft becoming true. A little of a wiggle here, the push of the stretch, opening her wide. Her eyes fixate on yours, and her mouth loosens with each parting breath. 

“Y-you-” 

“There she is,” you murmur, the lower half of your face twisting into a sinister smile. 

All she could do was nod, like she was admitting; almost as if she wanted this. 

“Hold still for me,” you’re instructing, and the tone in the phrase is so gentle that she agrees to the request easily. She’s surrendering herself to you. An unspoken truth in itself. You can see the twinkle behind the rings of her irises, her shoulders drop as a result of all the muscles and bones finally relaxing after being so pent up. Something shifts in you, maybe an act of desperation; a moment where your ego is fractured. It happens when you’re pressing your cheek against hers, whispering into her ear as you put your fingers back into her cunt: “You’ve missed this, so much, haven’t you?” 

Rosé winces. You can feel the clamp in her pussy and jaw. 

Her nose scrunches as well, doing everything she can to not unfold the stricken nerve, so she mouths instead. “Yes. God, yes.” She can’t focus at all when her head hits the back of the wall and you’re leaving your lips into her neck. “I regretted it - so much, so fucking much. Wanted you to forgive me, to come back and-” 

Shit. She got you there. The honesty alone might come as a shock to you. 

“I tried so hard to move on. To forget,” she barely breathes, her voice clearer than ever, like she’s ignoring the fact that you have two curling digits inside that unbelievable cunt of hers, gripping, thighs pressing together into your hand and keeping it there; a makeshift shackle. It didn't take much to push her buttons and rile her up, get her cursing and spilling out incoherent nonsense since she can’t think straight due to the rubbing from the bottom of your palm. “The apology was there, but you were already gone-” 

The more she speaks, the more she sends your common sense down into a spiraling cyclone. Your hand keeps working her leaking slit while the other hikes up her leg - let her carry the weight in holding your body as she’s mindlessly humming against your mouth; even though she’s still trying to speak, that’s fine as it is. Maybe you’re doing yourself a favor jumping face first into this hell, or Rosé herself is just helping you get there faster- 

She knows what she wants. It’s a bit pathetic, a contrast to her condescending attitude that’s been peeling away little by little. Her slick is so smooth around your fingers, twirling and sliding with no care for her responses at all. You could kind of hear her say ‘I'm sorry’. Almost, you’re not entirely sure, but the endless nods and welled-up tears prove that there’s a psychotic factor occurring in your mind. 

“Gonna cum for me?” you ask, and she puts on this faint smile before her head lolls up and back towards the wall. “Your hips are shuddering by the second.” 

Rosé doesn’t say anything except for the staggered breaths from your hand working her and giving no care to fucking with your fingers. She tries to grip onto something; a hand, shoulder, the back of your head - whatever she could try to get her mind to not focus on you. It’s pointless. The precipice and final peak of her high is there in her eyes; locked to your face, focusing and unfocusing. 

She cums. And she looks strikingly astonishing when she finally melts down. 

“Cat got your tongue?” You ask again, expression slightly satisfied as the arms around you hold her down, pinning her. “That’s too bad, ‘cause I was gonna say that you look good like this-” 

Her hips buck forward, pussy gushing a bit more on your fingers, wetting them. “God, y-you- fuck-” 

A pinch of her clit is all you give her and she’s practically not there anymore. 

The cries coming out of her reverberate around the room. Her mouth is still hung open when you relieve some of the pressure of your face on hers, eyes slowly trying to blink through the orgasm as much as possible. The front of her body falls forward, her cunt piping hot - or well, that’s just the final part of the warmth washing over with the need for another outlet to take it all in. 

“Maybe I should just let you have it, huh?” you tell her as you get your hands to her waist and thigh again. “Do you think you deserve my forgiveness after what you did?” 

“Yes, yes.” Rosé answers. You’re finding it hard to be convincing - as if she couldn’t say it any other way when you’re hovering her over to the bed and the nodding starts to become more frantic, desperate. 

When she finally lands back first on the bed, you don’t give her any room to breathe as her body naturally arches when you’re pressing your weight on top of her again. And that’s the venom working its magic through your mind and body; she’s managed to get you craving for more without doing much. 

This is her checkmate to you. She wants you so fucking bad that if you don’t get your dick inside her in the next few minutes, the damage to follow after would honestly be catastrophic. 

In all fairness, you want her. It’s that simple. You’re willing to hold her down and fuck her senselessly, give her no care until she’s a pure puddle of mush. The hand holding you is calculated, precise; palm to the side of her face as she sighs at the touch. Gentle, yes. Her head tracks yours as you admire the winding mess that’ll get worse eventually. 

“I want you to say it,” you tell her, accidentally leaning down to bump your nose with hers. “To be sure. Rosé, I-” 

“Need you-” Her body tenses while her mouth drops to a new low, the sudden shift in her body too much to bear. You manage to wrap yourself around her, sliding slowly; spreading her legs wider until that ache rests on your muscles and hers. The drag of her fingernails on your back keeps your attention on her, zeroing in on the tightness of her waist when you’re adjusting to the right angle and depth, suspending you not to think about anything else besides her. “Like this- oh, yes- right there, fuck it’s so big, holy shit-” 

“Christ,” you hiss; Rosé’s front rises to where your stomach is, squirming until you get a proper hold of her hips at the crease where the top of her legs are, putting her in place. You’re shaking your head here, trying to stay conscious; Rosé’s eyes fall to the back of her head, blinking lethargically. Her cunt’s smoothing out all the ridges and veins, clinging with a melting grip that you’d want to bury yourself in for as long as you’re with her. 

She bites down a cry, and the whines can only be covered so much when she’s eating away at your face, hips snapping up slowly. 

You use the adjustments wisely, watch as her expression carefully unravels right in front of your eyes, until you have a proper hold of her legs where it’ll hurt, pulling her into your cock. The first smack of skin and drive up her spine snaps - like a cable cut, a live wire - the thread of curses and the cauldron of praises fall out so nicely past her lips. She locks her arms around your back, get her pussy in a position where you can take it deep and wreck her like clockwork- 

“Okay, okay. I get it now- jesus girl,” you moan out, the sound partly broken, “You win. I, fuck-” 

So you manage to bury your dick inside her, saying her name and it freaking destroys her. Some of the slaps of skin match your heartbeat from time to time, the pace nice and consistent, kissing to comfort as she swallows down the first wave of sobs.

“Yeah, yeah. You know - you’ve always known,” Rosé groans. “Ugh-” 

“Talking too much,” you mutter right back at her, breath hot and all over the skin of her cheek, pressing, a slight grin forming between your lips. “You don’t sound sorry enough.” 

Her face then matches the same lazy smile, tugged at the corners. You’ve barely made a dent into her and it isn’t enough. The focus is clear; right in her eyes, lidded and glossy. But she flutters her lashes shut, nodding profusely again, when you’ve nudged your cockhead into the spot where you’ve killed her before, another move made. “Yes I- I am. I am, I am, I am.” 

There’s not much to follow up on. The pace is already set. The one-two; slide out and drop the pin right back where it belongs. Rosé pulls you in with her lips, ankles linking to the backside of your thighs, holding her by the middle of her waist. It’s a natural transaction of sorts, the opening of old terms - matching what one wants along the other. 

Maybe you’re returning the favor in a way with her - which you are. Your vision is already becoming hazy, the clamp of her cunt all over your cock the only point of focus and consciousness keeping you sane. Nothing else outside you two mattered at this moment, hidden away within these very walls of the room as Rosé’s hips started to stutter again when you bottomed her out. 

And when she whines, a high pitch rather than a lone note, the part has never been made clearer. 

You remember how you’ve fucked her in this fashion: burying your face into her chest, nails digging into the scalp of your head, holding you so close and tenderly - like she was afraid of losing you again, powering through the second time she cums all over your cock, the mixing of her sobbing and sniffles when you’ve pushed her over that edge once more, urging you to keep sinking into her willingly - even when the precision starts to lose its fine touch. 

Even when her body starts to go limp, you play the nice gesture of raising her legs a little higher, getting her ankles planted right to the small of your back, opening up the deep, melting hollow of heat underneath you. 

“Rosie. Oh, Rosie- my Rosie-” you mumble softly beneath the repeating hymn of your name on her tongue. “My god, you’re fucking crazy.” 

“I want it- want you,” she sighs, palm to your cheek as her eyes lock with yours again. Christ, she knows what the fuck she’s doing, you need to fuck her properly, get your cock embedded right in her cunt where the warmth is at the hottest, filling her up and sliding smoothly along her slick walls to the point where she’ll have to repeat in the request - will you? Please, you fuck me so well - I swear, right there, this pussy’s always been yours, nobody else’s- 

“How I’ve missed this,” you confess. The drag of her fuckhole is that lethal, and reverts you to old ways. The regret will cross your mind again soon, you’re sure of it. 

“Cum baby.” She tells you, basically letting you do so. The velvety walls are just too much for you to handle. You could feel the coil tighten in your abdomen, the grip of her legs in your hands now leaving their red marks across her pale skin, cock hitting the same spot of her cunt over and over, relentlessly pounding and grinding her lower half into a mere puddle. “I want you to cum.” 

The air within you gets sucked right out of your lungs, boiled over to a stream of strained groans and heavy exhales - two more strokes inside her creaming cunt before you grasp on the last bit of energy to tug yourself out, painting all over the fine plane of Rosé’s waist, pumping your load out. A hand gets planted to the side, holding you upright, her voice also in its high octave, begging and speaking in tongues as the ribbons of white find their place across the blush ambered skin. 

“Fuck- holy fuck,” she sighs again, eyelids lifting up as you hobble over from the sudden blood loss from your head, bumping into hers as you tap the numb of her clit with your tip once, twice, the loose sobs sounding heavenly, pulling you back to your senses. “Oh god - it feels so good all over me. Yes.Yes. It’s so good, keep teasing my pussy like that, I know you love it, shit-” 

Even after getting her brains properly fucked out, the slurs of her words spilling out are still coherent. You take a moment to breathe, calm down the irregular heart rate as best you can, and watch as Rosé takes a fingertip to her stomach and collects some of the mess left by you. She’s so shameless, tattered, reaping the reward in all of its glory. 

“Satisfied?” You ask, rubbing her lip. Her blush is amazing to look at, a slut like her owning the part as if she’s meant for it. It’s true. The afterglow makes her ten thousand times more alluring than how she was back at the cafe when she planted the idea of those dirty thoughts slowly formulating in the back of your mind. All you have to do is just look at her- 

It’s easy to read and take a step back; because giving her more would be a guarantee on the cards. Her palm lands on the left side of your chest, feeling your heartbeat. You indulge in pulling a wisp of her hair off from her forehead, those doe eyes looking up at you while she treats herself by licking up your load off her fingers. 

She hums. It’s only the two of you. Everything you or her ever needed is trapped in this space. 

Rosé teases with the tip of her tongue, showing the evidence being down into the space of her mouth - in her throat, seeing her neck bob up while her head tilts to this sultry gaze, a damming smile forming again, hinted with a small peek of her teeth. She then manages to get a hand around your length - fingers still soaked with your cum, languidly pumping without care - since the reaction could be substituted as a reflex. “I think you have more to offer for me.” 

“God, Rosé-” you say, and she just laughs; the sound alone is impossible to ignore, but her snark, the words and things she tells you from time to time - it alters your brain chemistry. She’s always been like this. 

“What? Am I wrong?” She asks, ghosting your upper profile to give you the hint that she needs some breathing room, rolling herself over where her back is now in view, and not to mention her fucking ass- 

“No, you’re not,” you answer, hovering over the nape of her neck, pressing a few kisses down the curve. “If anything, you’re doing a terrific job of keeping my mind off of certain things.” 

Her knees dig into the mattress, lifting her backside to the front of your hips, her slick still there, smothering the top of your length. You hold her down from the shoulders and slide your knees up to the proper placement. She’s giving an offer, alright - one that you simply cannot refuse. 

“Good.” Rosé chuckles, breathing low as you’re grazing the head of your cock over the pucker of her ass, teasing it around her folds. “I hope I can keep up the work for you. Make you not worry about any other thing besides me. God that would be amazing. Can you? For me?” 

“Make me fuck your brains out as my only worry,” you concur. “Doesn’t sound that bad to do again.” Her head dips down into the sheets when you’ve got your cock slowly working its way back into her creaming pussy, hips becoming flush with yours, relishing in the perfect fit - the gorgeous press of those walls, it does something to a man. 

You’re imagining the widest smile on her face, knowing that she’s won you back. It doesn’t make sense yet, the bits and pieces of your mind not lining up with the actions. Rosé’s yelp gets muffled, in response to the press of her lower half into the mattress, hands pressing both asscheeks together, tightening the noose around your length, letting the drag make your cock throb even harder. 

“I’ve fucking missed this,” she rasps, the last exhale shoved out of her once you’ve managed to nudge your cock back inside her. The latter of everything is this: the steady breaths, the audible slide of slick, and the slap of skin. 

A hand reaches out to her hair, holding her head down to the mattress along with the rest of her body, arm slithered to the underside where the waist is, a placeholder as your hips snap forward. The whimper she lets out is a clear implication that your bag of tricks is doing a number on her. 

“Taking me so well. God, Rosie. This pussy is amazing. Look at you,” you praise, growling as she continues to babble beneath your touch. 

And the innocent giggles can hide so much of the absolute pleasure she’s enjoying. She’s a real-life venus fly trap: pulling you in with her smile, her eyes, and her charisma; only for you to be wrapped around her little finger and quite literally, her leg. “How cute. You were full of shit not that long ago. For a second I figured you’d be having second thoughts.” 

You smack her ass and grab both sides of cheeks on her face. A statement. A warning. 

“Watch your mouth,” you grit, and you swear that you’ll stay true to your word. 

“Alright, just- ah, fuck me, like that. Your cock hit that same- hngh! Please, just fuck me like you mean it. Rail my ass until I’m on my knees apologizing. I promise, just dick me down-’ 

The pace picks up and you’ve lost all remorse. You’ll bounce her cunt on your cock regardless if she’s asking for it or not. In the present case that she is, giving it to her was an easy decision. Her pussy is the missing piece of a puzzle that you always wanted to complete anew, and it’s right in your hands and on your hips. 

Rosé’s face twists over her shoulder, eyes fluttering in unadulterated pleasure, tensing and unraveling each passing stroke you have on her. The secret’s already out: you missed her, and she missed you. You’ll have the desire to take this moment away and put it in a chest, only for it to be tossed to the bottom of the sea, where no one else will know of its existence. 

“Have me over and over,” she says, “if that’s all you ever wanted, I’d let you.” 

You weren’t sure what you were getting yourself into, and when you’ve made her cum the second time, and third soon after - she’s a sobbing mess, voice wrecked, you’re also there with her, she’s got you by that much. 

–

The first snowfall meets the cloudy skies when the light peeks through the drapery. Or at least when your vision is coming around while Rosé’s posture straightens when she sits up - clutching the comforter from the bed close to her body as she looks over her shoulder to you. Her friz of bed hair is apparent at the ends, not to mention her bare back, the first hint of red marks at the bottom of her neck - you’re drawing the assessment up as you go. 

“Cold?” you ask, leaning your head back into the pillow behind. “That’s a shame.” 

“Says the one who doesn’t have anything on along with me,” Rosé chuckles, swirling around facing you. You’ll be left there to just observe and stare more times than you can probably count on your own ten fingers. 

Then she lets the blanket fall; her version of a curtain raiser. 

It isn’t anything new really, but you catch yourself blinking a lot faster than usual; the blotches of red spread across her chest, mixed with the paleness of her skin. Her waist emulates this hourglass shape that almost looks unreal for one to have; there’s also neck and collarbones, and you’re looking everywhere from her face to her hips - lustful would be an understatement of her efforts. 

“You could give me one of your hoodies again,” she’s saying, sliding her hands into the crease beneath her shoulders, looking down to the crimson marks. 

“Tempting.” 

She tilts her head the other way, a soft hum reflected off her smile. The rosy blush is a highlight; the reruns of all the moments with her keep coming back, and you’re certainly here for all of them. “You can’t turn me down.” 

“And if I did, it would be a tragedy,” you say, pulling her into your embrace as she spins around again, her hand scratching the side of your head, nose buried into the curve of her neck, “thankfully, that won’t happen with you.” 

“Let’s go exploring the city today,” Rosé proposes, back arching to the adjustment of your hold. “I can put in a reservation for that one restaurant with the fancy snails and seafood.” 

“Isn’t that like-” you snort, “eighty percent of the restaurants around here anyway?” 

“Only if you’re not looking deep enough.” 

“Your call,” you agree, turning your head to put a proper kiss, tasting the sweetness of cherry or strawberries. Her fingers trail across your forearms while yours are grazing her waist, her breasts - you’re one for physical touch, a little too much for your liking but in this case is it justified? Absolutely. Who wouldn’t? “I can carry you to the shower if you’d like.” 

Rosé’s eyes close, fluttering. Lips pulled inward to a smirk. She’s enthralled with the notion - the affinity of how you treated her before. “Mmmmm. I think: yes please.” 

–

(So you do carry her. Frankly, your fingers digging into the plush skin of her ass, sinking her back onto your cock; palms holding the tile, then slipping - her back to the wall as her feet dangle past your backside. Rosé’s moaning into the shell of your ear one second, kissing you the next - like the world would end at any given moment, hands pressing your face deeper into hers in the wash of rain above, encouraging you to give in. 

She was doing whatever it took to creep herself back into the nook of your mind, and so far it’s working; rewriting your nerves and synapses, corralling with her tongue and lips in all the ways that swept off your feet before, her grin against your chin all the easier to bite down and swallow. “You swear not to tell anyone about this, promise me.” The only telltale point of accountability laid out on the table, in the space opened between your lips and hers - a brief pause, stalled negotiations, ending with an everlasting proposition that you’ll submit to when she finally says: 

“Not a soul. Promise.”)

–

You’re shrugging your shoulders up to your ears, hoping to keep in some of the heat trapped in your body. An instinct; and with the right amount of layers of fabrics, it makes the job a whole lot easier to do. Simple as that. 

Rosé eventually did manage to steal one of your hoodies from your luggage. Not that you were complaining about it. As much as you hate to admit it, the girl did have a knack for styling different articles effortlessly to the point where you can’t even tell if she’s wearing your clothes or her own. She’s got a red scarf for today’s outing, properly complimenting the other shades below while she’s fixing her appearance in the mirror of the restaurant, patting down her hair with you coming right behind to transfer some of the warmth onto her. 

You’re getting a few whiffs of her perfume. Cinnamon and something rustic, cozy, and she just gives you a beaming smile off the reflection in front of you. Her hand goes into the pocket of her overcoat: a small digicam, turns it on and points it to the mirror - telling you to act candid or cute, whichever one happens to come first. The pull of your arms brings her closer to you, a familiar movement and rhythm when you leaned over earlier while getting ready, talking all sly and prettily as she creams all over your cock. She’s thinking about it also, even while the camera clicks. 

“Would you look at that,” she exclaims, capturing the photo as a personal keepsake, and showing you the photo on the screen soon after. “We look good in this for once.” 

Rosé notices your whole body freeze, rolling your eyes, “Uh, was that supposed to be an insult?” 

Her face shifts to a quick scowl, taken aback by the question suddenly. “Why? Would you rather have me tell you that you’re fucking ugly instead?” 

“Not true. But, hah. That does sound a lot more like you.” 

Your gaze goes back to the glass, and Rosé takes another funny photo for the memories, looking over to the corner of your eyes as the snaps from the camera continue for a few seconds. “How’s my jacket?” 

She pulls the hood to her nostrils, eyelids snapped shut, and inhales. The grin she has all over her face proves to be a clear indicator that the signs are all pointing towards positive. Her figure is still in reach of you, her front opposite to yours. “Comfy, for one,” she then looks up to your chin, syrup eyes looking up with a gentle gaze. “It’s a distinct smell. A one-of-one.” 

“Corny.” 

“And?” 

“Pretty,” is what you end off with, petting her hair which earns you a nose scrunch. “Want me to add on?” 

“You could tell me that I’m special, your angel, or something. Maybe say that I look good, y’know - to boost my ego. You being my one and only, the dream guy I’ve wanted for as long as I liv-” 

“Don’t push your luck,” you’re grinning, because she’s planting the idea so well, the keywords and points of inference to decode and analyze. She’ll inflate your ego so much that you’d have to hold her down in your hands and fuck some proper sense into her - ‘cause it’ll happen again -  probably because she deserves it, which is true. 

–

Later, and by her arm linked to yours, Rosé pulls you into this music club. A jazz bar, or- just a place where they were having an open mic night, the songs having the earworm effect to the point where your feet are following hers. 

The place opens up inside where the seating arrangements are segregated in pairs in the middle from the stage and outwards with the usual booths set at the sides. Some people are sitting, others are dancing, and then there are a few who are just casually conversing and really having a great time. But the wave of nostalgia is hitting a little harder than usual as they’re all riding along with the music. 

“This place is nice,” she tells you, gently bobbing her head along to the cozy ambiance of the band playing on the stage, tugging the cuff of your sleeve towards some open seats to rest your legs and take a breather. 

When you do finally settle your bearings, the seat under you becomes a lot more comfier, taking in the sights and sounds of the live music being performed right in front of you. It wasn’t that long also for the drinks to come flowing in; only this time, you’re more in line with your inhibitions and common sense all because there isn’t any impending stress plaguing your mind. 

Once the setlist’s been played through, the main lead of the band calls out to the audience for anyone who would be interested in singing on the open floor. Pretty straightforward: just name the song for the band members to play and give them a few minutes to get adjusted to the demands of the piece; gotta say, they’re pretty good at what they do. 

“I’m gonna go up there.” Rosé snatches your attention with her spontaneous plan. “It’s been a while since I sang in front of anyone” 

You chuckle, because you remember how she was back in the high school choir years ago. “You’re serious?” The question comes off as rhetorical alone, but you sense that burning passion inside her that fuels everything in her enthusiasm. “By all means, go for it.” 

“Got a song in mind?” She asks, hand resting on your forearm. 

“Don’t have anything in particular,” you answer with a shake of your head. “Surprise me.” 

With that, Rosé shoots her hand up high into the air. The band leader spots her out instantly and calls her up to the stage. Everyone’s eyes are drawn towards her - a mix of applause and whistles to solidify the encouragement, and here you are stuck in your seat hoping that nothing goes wrong while she’s up on stage. You have faith, and it’s just enough to stick by. 

Her introduction is cute to watch; the way that she sounds sends your heart flipping for a millisecond: “Hi my name is Rosé. I’m not from here, but I’m super excited to perform for you guys tonight and I hope that you guys enjoy it. Thank you.” 

You’d have to admit, she does look good when the lights are all on her. 

She picks two oldies that you remember vividly because of your parent's music taste, and the final song catches you off guard, because of the way that she presented it- 

“I’d just like to dedicate this last song to the number one that I hold most dear to in my heart. So if you’re listening to this, wherever you are, I hope you know that I will always root for you - even from afar.” 

-being a classic Bruno Mars song since that’s been one of the few artists she’s been playing on repeat for the entirety of the trip. Her head moves and tilts in alternating directions, really just feeling out the music. 

Once the final chords of the song get played out, the club erupts with a mix of cheers and claps, congratulating her for providing a wonderful show. The gratitude comes out naturally and she gives her thanks, occasionally landing her gaze over to you before looking elsewhere. She realizes the yearning, like how she sensed it while examining the art pieces up close as you were a few steps away. 

It really gets you thinking, just how much you’ve fallen deeper back into the abyss with her. 

–

At some point, you realize that you aren’t getting enough sleep as you’d like. 

And no, it’s not because of the exhaustion of burying your cock deep into Rosé’s cunt, the slide of her folds becoming a relapse of an addiction long locked away. The lines become blurred between right and wrong, considering the incessant begging she keeps putting towards you where you give her exactly what she wants. 

She’s laid on top of you, skin touching skin. You make do by clinging onto her small body since she likes that. 

Rosé looks up, palm to your cheek, thumb canvasing the surface. She leans down for a peck - you lean up to meet her in the middle. Everything about this feels safe; your heart’s beating with a rise in tempo, every move of her hand and head an electric current across your body, the quick blitzes of craving for one another, pulling her close, wrapping her in your clothes, blowing air in the sensitive spots that get her going, whimpering. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: the ex.” She says to you, both hands now to the sides of your face, holding you like an award - a trophy. 

“First of all, ouch.” 

“Don’t take it to heart since you dicked me down not too long ago.” Her face turns over, listening to your heartbeat, legs tangling underneath the sheets. “It sounded a whole lot better in my head, so I thought why not say it out loud,” her tone filled with relief. “I’ve always spoken from my mind anyway, so how is this any different?” 

“That’s-” 

“I’m kidding,” Rosé laughs, “well- partly. I didn’t mean to hurt you again if that’s what you wanted to hear,” in a way she’s right; what also doesn’t help is her hand slithering down your front, to your hips, fingers coiling your length in record time. 

You gasp, tensing up all the muscles in your body. “Fuc- Rosie-” 

“These thoughts that I have, they’re the worst,” she’s telling this like some gospel - a fabled story or prophecy from an oracle, twisting and jerking your hardening shaft while sharing the madness of her hippocampus. “Well? What are you gonna do about it?” 

When she slides you right back into her volcanic heat, your mouth drops. “I think we can figure that out together.” 

She sighs, pressing her lips against your cheek, grinning. Her lower half has a mind of its own: grinding down and settling, where she stays. 

–

You make love with her again. And she screams; it could be heard far and wide past the walls. A guarantee, you said. A promise. It's only you and her, after all.

–

There are multiple ways for one to sign off on their death sentence: a contract, a hearing, a proclamation; where one’s resolve is pushed to the brink where everything that transpires after has to be seen to the end until the lingering thoughts and repercussions are nothing more than just a distant memory. You knew what you signed up for when this trip had its inception, what’s to come when you’re put face first with someone who was supposed to be part of the last chapter in your story. Things like these can be rewritten on a new page for starters, but still keep all the details intact. 

Rosé could be your judge, jury, and executioner for all you know - and still be the one to lure you into the dangerous pits of temptation. 

“Holy shit,” you grit, voice tattered; Rosé’s head dips down as she plants both of her hands on your waist, and adjusts her legs until her heels are rooted into the mattress, testing the angle with an unprompted thrust by you. 

“Don’t move too much,” she commands, the slide of your cock in her pussy slow enough to make you want to rush into it. “I’ll ride you like this. You don’t even have to do a thing.”

“God-” and the giggle she lets out in tandem with her devilish grin serves to be too much for you to bear. A lift up in her squatting position, and her petite ass slams on top of your balls - the deadly pin drop. “Fuck- you’re so good at that.” 

A rise and fall. A one-two in stopping and gyrating. She’s riding you so delicately - in contrast to your style of holding her close to your chest and impaling her upwards. You feel the edge of her palm at your chin - to your bottom lip - and you bite down gently into her hand. 

“I wanna feel it - all inside me,” she’s telling you, a phrase projected into existence, a claim. “Want your cum,” her confidence brightens so much when she’s the one in control, “so fucking bad.” She slides her feet out from under her, grinding harder against your hips, laying her body flat against yours, raising her ass again and back down; the angle is much more deeper than you anticipated. “Using this pretty cunt all for you. I know you like it.” 

“For fuck’s sake,” you growl, and it’s a swear in itself, “can’t get enough of you - this pussy is a dream.” 

“Uh huh,” her face crinkles when she ups the pace. “Tell me all about it. I’ll be your good little girl for you, babe.” This role isn’t her forte, but if the opportunity presents itself, she’ll own the part with flying colors. You could hear and feel the slick spread up to your waist; every gush, smack, and dragged-out moan was all part of a symphony created by you two. She effortlessly bottoms your cock out, and she whines. 

Your arms slither around her back, keeping her in place. She whispers a ‘yes’ in your ears, and licks your temple. 

“Grab me, fuck me. Make me yours,” she murmurs, happily kissing along your cheek as you spread yourself wider, getting the proper measurements right to ruin her. 

The rest of the world fades out as Rosé’s breathing fills up your brain. “Rosé- I’m gonna- fuck-” 

“Oh god- Yes! Baby, I’m close- keep going-” 

When you inevitably cum inside her - filling her up, you’re coaxing through her sobs. Driving your shaft deep where each exhale is a staccato. Your lips find her neck, marking up skin, drinking in the sweat, fucking through her orgasm to the point where she’s pliant and quivering - tiredly nodding in approval and satisfied. 

–

You’re no diplomat, but the advisable action of keeping your phone on do not disturb, limiting contact with anyone other than Rosé was entirely justified. 

(By common sense, how could anyone keep in touch with their significant other after the heinous acts that they’ve committed? Our lives are not defined by any one action, but rather the sum of our choices. Everyone has their reasons - more or less - and sometimes, some don’t even need a reason at all.) 

The messages do pile on throughout the week. Various texts at different times, all on different days. Each one is more desensitizing than the last. 

jen: can you please call me? 

jen: i’ll explain everything 

jen: i’m worried sick 

jen: pls just come home

You’ll deal with clearing out the notification bubbles sometime later when the time is right. 

Rosé’s in the bathroom, door open to slip some of the excess steam out, towel to her bust. Most of the water is soaked into the cloth; her hair is half dry - half damp, combing a little at the ends with a brush, leaning on the door frame. “You think you can help me with something real quick?”

“Hm? And what would that be?” you ask, slipping on a shirt. 

She’s in the middle of the walkway now. 

“Just need some attention in a few spots,” Rosé says, very nonchalantly. Pulls apart the towel from the two folds, lets it pool at her feet. Her being naked isn’t enough to sway you into pushing her back into the shower and well- yeah. She knows it’s gonna take a lot more than just that. “Preferably the ones where you didn’t touch earlier, to be more specific.” 

“Could’ve said you wanted more,” you laugh. “Didn’t have to sugarcoat it.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Rosé asks, deadpanning. She sways her body where her bare ass is now in view, hips moving side to side on the balls of her feet, looking over her shoulder to solidify the image. “We got a little more time on our hands and besides, it’s Christmas Eve.” 

You’re back following her in a heartbeat. 

–

You may be sloppy and shameless, but you are also very intricate in how you approach things. It’s in how your mouth moves: precise, calculated - licking down her slutty little waist, to her clit, getting everything you’ve ever needed between those glorious thighs of hers. 

On your knees like you’re in reverence, you’re worshiping Rosé’s pussy; hoping that she could give you the blessing of eating her out like it’s your one-way ticket to heaven. The insides of her thighs press inward, her fingers in your hair pulling you exactly where she wants. 

Rosé almost slides off the bathroom counter when she finally cums. She’s yelling her heart out, hissing through her teeth. Neither of you are thinking about the possible noise complaint that you’ll get for the sixth time this week. 

“Fuck, yes,” she huffs, pressing your head harder with her legs. “Yes- yes, just that.” 

You raise yourself and give your fingers the fill, nipple between your teeth while the knuckle curls inside- 

She grasps at your neck - like you’re going off to war and she’s bagging on the chance she’ll never see you again, “Baby, I can’t say this enough,” she rasps, whining a high pitch when you hit her favorite spot, “I literally need you to ruin me,” and you nod, because you will. 

Doesn’t take that long for her to cum again soon after, figuratively off the cliff face first. Her body goes limp, eyes glossy, panting as if she’s dehydrated. She keeps her legs closed, your hand caught in the crossfire, hoping that you’ll stay once the sun shines after the storm. 

Once the clouds of lust finally pass the both of you: 

“Good use of our time actually, what do you think?” 

Rosé looks up to you, hand on her cheek, wiping the dry stream of tears. 

“We can still go,” she sighs. “I just need a few more minutes because, fuck, can’t think straight when you’re staring at me while I’m like this.” 

“Saying that I went too far?” 

“No- but,” her groan makes you chuckle, “that’s not it. It never is, I-” 

“I?” you carry on with the overhanging thought. 

“I know that you have different sides, but this- this one is just- I don’t know, to me, it just feels right.” 

She manages to get herself up from the edge of the bed, legs a bit wobbly but manageable. You’re patting down her overcoat and adjusting the scarf around her neck, cupping her face. Her hands find yours stacked on top. 

“Not letting me go, hm?” Rosé asks, humming. “That’s not very kind.”

“Want me to carry you? ‘Cause I can most definitely do that, if it makes it easier,” and it comes off so casually. You’ll stay true to your good intentions, worrying about the punishment for the crime later. 

Rosé nods, and looks down, kissing the crown of her head. She’s entrapped with this spell of desire, unsure of who got it first. It’s boundless, even when you’re hugging her. Boundless, and you’ve concluded that it’ll stay. 

–

(The muddled wet-suck of her cunt. The grip. Her listless sighs and whimpers of praise plague your brain. You're having your fill; filling her up with your cock like old times. Like it's meant to be.

You fuck her again, and all it takes is one look, and she knows. It's plastered in those rosy pink cheeks at that lip bite that makes you crave her more - it's maddening.

An untethered devotion: you could give her everything she ever wanted.

If it takes the space left open in her heart, you'd pledge yourself to get her back without a second thought.)

–

The time’s ticking; the sands in the hourglass are almost at the bottom. Part of you is torn between finally getting this trip over with and stirred that you and Rosé will probably never see each other again in the coming days. Aside from the rough, raw sex, you also realize that it’s been pretty refreshing to reconnect with the girl that you shared a good third of your life with and fall into old habits as if nothing had ever happened between you two. 

You’re starting to reminisce on how it had all gone wrong. 

Rosé, without a care in the world, stares up into the deep blue sky. The Eiffel Tower still has some guests visiting, sightseeing, and enjoying the present company that they have. You have your phone in your hands, taking pictures of everything within distance. Each click that’s pressed is a reminder of what little you will have to cling to once this fever dream is all done and dusted. 

She’s a bit out of arm's reach from you, enjoying the brisk weather and the overall ambiance that’s happening with the people around her. Her digicam in one hand, phone in the other. At some point she’s recording a guy that’s playing with his accordion, going down his list of Christmas carols, happily nodding along to the joyous tunes. She keeps on snapping photos wherever she happens to see or notice first. Canvassing the area, like a lighthouse with her phone in hand- 

Until her camera finally lands on you. She’s snapping a photo of you. You’re snapping a photo of her. 

(It’s a gunshot without the smoke. Yours and her version of Halley's comet flying over you. The realization settles in: you both fucked up.) 

You stand there motionless - phone lowered and you just look at Rosé. She does the same. Time halts to a standstill as the both of you just admire one another. Your expression is stoic while her’s is filled with an expression that’s told by her glossy eyes and uneven breathing. 

She moves without fail, running towards you; before you know it, she’s jumping in your arms, clinging onto you so hard that it’s nearly suffocating. Her sniffles are a lot louder now, and you start rubbing the back of her head in the same motion that you know brings her comfort. 

“Hey-” Rosé stutters, burying her face into your collarbone. “I- I just, God, I’m such an idiot-” 

“There’s no need for that,” you whisper, “I know. I know.” 

Like always, Rosé’s face is in your hands yet again; wiping away the tears and cradling her as if nothing else had mattered. You chuckle at the sobs she lets out, and she hits your arm. “Can we-” you’re rubbing her head still to help gather her thoughts, “can we go back to the hotel now? I think we’re good for today.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll do that. Okay. Let’s go back.” 

–

(Midway on the walk back, you decide to bet it all on the line. If it doesn’t happen now, the chances of it happening later become less likely.

“I need to stop by somewhere for a sec,” you’re telling Rosé with a sudden clutch of her hand to stop her. “Wanted to surprise you with a gift.” 

Rosé furrows her brows together, but shakes her head, smiling. “Promise you’ll meet me back at the hotel?” 

“Won’t be long, I promise.” You reassure, kissing her and her hand soon after.) 

–

You’ve never been so fast to come back to someone in your life, bouquet of roses in hand like those tv melodramas that always milks the simple moment for absolutely no reason. This might feel like one of those moments, all honesty considered, but who’s really to judge when you’re preparing for the inevitable. 

The keycard slots itself in, followed by the click of the lock once closed. You notice that the lights were already dimmed - the actual preference you and Rosé agreed on after the first night, the only difference was the trail of undergarments leading to the open area of the room. 

And that’s when you see her. 

She’s knelt on the bed, a singular rose in her hands. Her outfit is uncovered by the layers of pants, hoodie, and scarf - revealing a lingerie set on her that you’ve never seen before, painted in scarlet red. It highlights her natural complexion, not to mention her hair - she’s the literal image of your long-lost wet dreams come to life. 

“Like what you see?” Rosé asks, staring while you remain motionless. 

You drop the bouquet in your hand, not for dramatic effect of course, but in utter shock at how well the fabrics meld onto her clad body. 

She takes the hint, moving herself closer to you, on the edge of the bed while your hands ghost her figure - unsure of where to even begin. 

“I’ve said this countless times before,” you say, heart rate spiking when her palms land on your chest, “but you look amazingly good in that.” 

Her hand pulls you by the neck, and gives you a quick kiss after that. “Why thank you,” says Rosé, lip caught to her teeth when your hands slide across the lower plane of her back, resting above her ass. “I had a few other options in mind, but I always knew that your favorite color was red.” 

“Aw. So thoughtful.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“I will.” 

Rosé laughs at that. Aside from the figurative meaning, she’s aware that you can back that up. 

“Do you know why? Why I broke up with you then?” Rosé asks, face shifting to a wistful gaze. Your body freezes at the sudden question, wide eyes locked with hers as open as they can be. She twirls the rose in her fingers for a few seconds, places it at your middle, finding her words. 

“Still can’t put all of that together, you know.” You’re telling her. 

“We were young back then. We still are.” She confesses, palm to your chin as you’re doing the same. “I thought that you didn’t care how we were - like you didn’t love me anymore. Even at first now, you were such a fucking dick-” 

“Ros-” 

“Shut up, let me finish. It made me realize at that moment where I- I tho-” her words are becoming more and more shaky, you can tell in the irregular breathing, “I thought you fell out of love with me.” 

The harsh sting of truth still hurts when you’re thinking back on it for a second. It wasn’t a one person show, however, but you contributed to most of the downfall of the relationship in the past. You’ll own up to the mistakes somehow, someway; if you had the chance, you’d do it without a second thought. 

“It made me realize, this whole trip, I saw the old you,” Rosé confesses, keeping her emotions at bay as best she can, “Like how did you know that I’ve wanted a dream trip to Paris for the longest time? How long did you work on this before we- oh, right.” 

You’re laughing a bit here. Could be the psyche of trying to not come to terms with the feelings. “Use your words, it’s okay.” 

“You treated me so well this past week, putting up with my shenanigans and such, forcing you to walk wherever I go but I’m just- fuck. It fucking sucks with how we are now.” 

“I’m still hurt too,” you admit, wiping a tear off of Rosé’s cheek. “I hoped that us being here would give us some closure - which is working, but I also hope that we can still be happy as friends once all of this is over.” 

Rosé nods, sniffling. “Won’t be easy, but we can try.” 

You seal your lips with hers, finally breaking the dam of longing that you’ve been holding back until now. Her mouth burns a hum down her throat, hands weaving across your shoulders, the passion instantly infectious. 

She pulls away with a heavy sigh, “Prove it.” The words match her eyes of determination and urging. “Make love to me.” 

You’re not far from her, and you’ll follow no matter what. 

Her face is hot: scorching and engulfing at the same time. She’s quick to slip you off of your jacket - your hands fiddling with the lace decorated all over her body, pulling on your bottom lip, giving you no chance to regroup and re-hit the areas that you want to take; she’s prioritizing in keeping you close, unwilling to loosen her arms once the grips have been set. 

The fingers find the small latch of her bra, feeling her chest rise in your other hand. 

She’s peeled you off of your shirt, claiming scratches on your skin. 

You’ve got an angel within your reach - from the echelons of heaven and earth above. She’s gracing her presence onto you to the point where you will do anything to prove your devotion to her, hoping that she’ll grant you your deepest wishes - and make you forget about your darkest regrets. 

Rosé’s so responsive and you love it. Her octave goes up a key when you’re fondling along lone breast; dividing and conquering in two places at once with your other hand palming the dampness of her panties. She pulls you onto the bed, a lasso of truth that you’ll always submit to. Whispering sweet nothings, begging you to keep going; telling you more, more, and more. 

Your eyes, no matter how many times you’ve dozed off into the distance, have always landed back on Rosé in some way or form. Amidst everything, you’re magnetized to the way her eyes looked now: dangerous, wanting, hooded - as if the shades of lust have completely taken over her thoughts and with her as the vessel to carry all of those bad deeds out, as if you were the only one who could control this growing feeling. 

When she finally settles on the pillows, the heat’s already become too infectious, her face flushed and lips generally parted, waiting for your return. You go for her neck, and her body tenses, back arching and heels sliding up the sheets, unsure of where to rest as you’re catering to her lovely neck. 

“How bad do we want this?” you start, fingertip to your lip before wetting it. “You up for it?” 

Rosé bites her lips as always and nods. “Fuck,” she gasps, taken off guard by your lips to her collarbone again. “I want it.” 

A press deep into the slick center of her panties only solidifies what she’s implying. 

Her hands work with yours, sliding her out of the last piece like clockwork, her tongue clashing against yours as she shuffles herself up against the headboard, but you lean down to keep her in place. The sooner you pin her down to reach her soft spots, the more likely she’ll break within minutes - it’s all part of the plan. 

Giving her a heads up wasn’t an option, and that’s proven so when your fingers slide up against her slick folds, getting a feel for what’s to come when you eventually push inside and spread her open, teasing by dipping no more than your fingernail into her cunt, rubbing her clit to up the sensitivity. 

“You fucking tease, I know- ah-” she spits, squirming at your touch, the friction becoming a necessity. Her inner thighs press together, holding your hand hostage. That only prompts you to traverse your fingers deeper into her pussy, and she moans. “R-right there.” 

She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, or her legs, let alone her entire body in this state. The pleasure is too much to bear, and the snowball effect keeps on building. You kiss her again to keep her mind off the finger fucking you’re doing to her; she digs her nails into your forearm, pulling you by the neck to deepen the lip lock. As much as you’d love to eat her out into the night, the way that she is right now is just enough for your satisfaction. 

“God, yes- fuck-” 

You know that she’s almost there; all it takes is a little push. She’s grinding her hips against your hand, the three digits inside her too much to handle. Each whimper and moan and sigh she lets out is nearly bittersweet to hear and witness - pitiful that she got herself like this for you, and there’s nothing that she can do about it. 

“Gonna make you cum so much,” you say huskily, pressing your forehead against hers as you feel her eyebrows mesh and rise, unsure of what to focus on. But you know exactly what it is, and it’s that euphoric rush that she won’t admit to having a craving for. “Can you do that for me? Be my good little girl and do as I say?” 

Her bobbing goes frantic; she doesn’t care either way, it’s happening regardless. 

“These fucking fingers,” Rosé grits, her first words that aren’t an ‘mmm’ or ‘ah’ or ‘hah’ in a while. “Baby, baby, holy shit, you’re fucking me so well with your hand, I’m so close- shit, I’m so fucking close.” 

“Yeah? Let go, Rosie. I want to see you cum for me.” She pulls you in to keep her mind off of your hand, hips bucking at an insane rate. You could feel the shake in her thighs, sliding in and out of her cunt - the press of your thumb on her clit an additional point of pressure. Her eyes open and close, lazily matching the pace of your fingers and steadying. 

All it takes is one more slide; one more press, and she’s fucking gone. 

The sight is the holy land you’ve managed to see time and time again: watching her cum on your fingers. It’s in the rosy blush spread on her face, and you’re pretty sure that she’s squirted a bit onto your arm, but you bear no mind to that. 

“There we go, would you just- look?” You’re enamored, amazed. Your Rosé is so pliant and willing to let you have control so easily that it shouldn’t be this straightforward to do. 

“God, the fucking mess. Rosé-” 

And the sigh is just heavenly. 

She’s shaking her head in disbelief. Your fingers are still inside her, hauling past the edge of her orgasm that she can’t do anything about it. 

You eventually give her a minute or two to breathe. Because she deserves it. 

Unfortunately: one thing was never going to be enough for someone like Rosé. 

Because she’s the kind of person who will always want to see things to the end. Usually, there’s a pause, a breather, probably the overhanging thought of what you’ve done to her again for the thousandth possible time on this trip - in these four walls - a glass of water would also suffice, or a bathroom break, but not tonight. 

Rosé’s fingers are fast around the button of your pants, and you get the hint right away. You can easily tell from the glint in her eyes that if you don’t take her cunt and fuck her apart the way that she wants, there’s certainly going to be irreversible damage. This is all you are doing. It’s the match of madness that you don’t want to admit but accept wholeheartedly. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re insane?” You ask, hand coiling her waist, pulling her close, thumb at the edge of her belly button. 

“Hmm, I think someone has, but I might need a refresher of sorts,” Rosé replies, a sultry smile as she watches you lick up her mess spread across your digits. “Add that to the number of things you’re willing to fix.” 

“Who said anything about fixing?” You dart back, reining her in by the waist, listen close to the stack of laughs, break down with every rumple and fold you do to her arms and legs. 

She glances at your throbbing cock waiting at her entrance, slipping the tip right in as a test, the rest to follow along until the noises coming out of her are broken, relieved. 

“Okay,” she’s saying, shimmying down your length, and raising her hips. “Impress me.” 

So, you get one thrust in for good measure, her hands braced around your back and legs finding a foothold around your hips. “How’s that so far?” 

Rosé’s fucking arch. Her pussy grips around you like a fist - hot and tight. She looks up and then at you, softer, prettier, and you’re beginning to wonder if it was ever worth getting stranded with her for a week and not ending up like this. It’s in the sound, the feeling; fucking her in this fashion: sliding yourself in and out of her so nicely. Clinging. Dragging. Every night after the first has always been like this. And the things she says: 

“Bet that feels good, right?” Pulling you from the back of your head, leaning down. “Just keep- keep, fuck, baby, like that. Holy shit, I fucking can’t-” 

Here she goes again: the praising. She’s scratching your scalp, patting your back. Nails down your spine. The tempo has her gasping in a sweet tone. “Have you like this and fuck, goddamit,” you sigh, and she looks at you like she knows what the fuck you’re talking about. 

You snap into her hips a little harder the next stroke. Pounding deep in her cunt was the eventual endgame. Her stomach dips with her next breath. Sucks her lips in. 

Oh, and that whimper; that bubbling whimper mixed into a wail of some sort. She’s looking at you; deep into your eyes where she wishes to see that part of that universe she knows she should’ve never left in the first place. Her smile is lazy. She’s got that fucked-out gaze written all over her. 

“Too much?” you say, diving into the curve of her jaw to where she moans at the contact. 

“Never,” she mumbles, cock drunk at the continuous pressing you’re doing inside of her. 

“Good,” you rasp. 

“Baby, baby, baby,” Rosé purrs, nails clawing away the skin and sweat off your back, clutching, “Please keep fucking me.” 

You bite a patch of skin away from the underside of her chin. You would rather be on the back foot here - dialing it down, but she won’t utter a complaint; she wants to feel this, how hard you can be with her. She’s taken you plenty of times before, getting her so wet at the thought of fucking her raw and dumping your load until it’s dripping down her inner thigh, watch her gasp and beg for the taste when you pull yourself out and she’s almost at the edge too. 

“Not leaving you until I’ve had enough,” you’re panting, carving your dick down to the base, thumbing her clit, a twisted evil smile painted across your lips when she’s wailing out of her mind - the mere image and sound of it is obscene. 

The pace is unrelenting, it wasn’t long until she’s cumming over your cock again, and again, and again - cutting off all the tension that’s building up in her spine as you’re holding the shivers spread across her body, unable to fight back but let you take her pussy so fucking well that the noises are bouncing off the walls, mix the heat into the open air, slide yourself out and slap the head of your cock on her swollen folds before letting her walls clench around your shaft. She might be fucked out, but you know that she still wants it. 

“Please-’ she’s pleading, and you know. You can tell from her face and body alone that she’s not done yet. 

You’re leaning down on top of her again, hooking your arms underneath her shoulders that makes the upper profile of her back fold at a ridiculous curve, and fuck her down that you’re hitting all the right places-

Her chest is heaving, nothing more than just sputtering pants - something that Rosé doesn’t register in her head right away; the air gets trapped at the bottom of her throat, swallowing, her eyes crinkle as there’s no sound coming out. 

You land your lips on hers to ease her mind. “In your nose, Rosie. Like so. There we go. Leave your pussy to me. You’re so good, you’re so so good.” 

Rosé’s head knocks into yours; a fierce wail pierces your ears. You can feel the clench a little tighter when you bottom yourself out; her stomach is moving in a concerning motion. Her gaze on you is almost a mix of shock, tears welling up in her eyes. 

You’re kissing her again, swallowing her cry. “Shhhh.” you comfort her. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” you hush, wrapping your arm to her lower back so she can stay close. “You can cum again baby, I won’t hold you back.” 

Her head goes sideways, the first domino to fall. You can see her mouth shape into something coherent - probably a dragged-out wheeze, okay, fuck, just, yes. 

“More, please, give me more,” she says. “Your cock, its- fuck, baby- I-” 

“I know sweetheart,” you croon, impaling your cock deep in her cunt. “I’m working with you here. You’ll let me use your pretty little pussy whatever way you like, huh?” 

It’ll be seconds before Rosé cums again, the wear and tear your minds and bodies are having are reaching its peak. The other times of fucking were just a competition of who can get off the other first. This time it was different; now it was getting someone over the edge first over the other - no telling how far this has gone on the scales of fucked up. 

She mouths a ‘yeah’, and the situation has never been more clear. You have to fuck her. You can’t help yourself. The nodding is only prompting you to keep going, her voice completely shattered. “Just- use me.” 

Right in the clamp of her melting cunt. In the tightening of her legs. 

“Fucking-” she’s sobbing at this point; you’ve got yourself in the prime position to where your cockhead hits the deepest spot of her cunt. “s-so good. That’s so fucking good, you’re pounding me so well-” 

She shrieks when you’ve pushed her past that brink. You’re entirely certain that it was your doing. 

This was the swan song you’ve sought out to hear. A hymn played in a time of reflection - collecting your thoughts and offering them to Rosé, hoping that she can accept your blessings and absolve you of your crimes, ordaining yourself to all good actions from this point moving forward. You’ll take this liturgy for as long as you’d like; worshiping her body and listening to all the psalms that are coming out of her mouth, holding her close as she rides out the lasting remnants of her orgasm - your name as a saint’s prayer and one that she’ll keep on speaking in tongues with over and over and over until she believes it to be true. You confess, through these harsh thrusts into her cunt with your cock, choking on the vice with a vicious finesse at the angle. 

(You’d wish you stayed at the cathedral a little longer than you did that day; confessing your sins was always going to be easier than pouring a heart out for someone who ripped it right out of you.) 

“Amazing,” you praise, and Rosé does this mix of a smile and a wince when you’re wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. Her hands guide yours down to the crease of her hips, enabling you to rock her cunt down like the lovely woman that she is. 

Her voice is rattled, helpless. Like she’s been chopped up, the cracks clear as day where the faults formed. “Want- want it- I want your cum, so fucking bad, please-” 

You grin when she grins, finally reaping the reward when you tug yourself up and splatter your cum all over her body. Her chest does this circular motion, arms digging deep into the mattress beneath her, wanting her skin to be soaked so well with your release. She can’t stop moaning. She doesn’t want to stop moaning. 

“Finally,” she sighs, whimpering, mouth twisting to a satisfied smile at the corners. “God, it’s so fucking much.” 

Her hand picks up the mess spread across her waist, wraps it around your cock in no time flat. The laugh she lets out when you groan is just sinister. 

Two can play that game.

She freezes when you slide your cum-soaked cock back into her dripping cunt; listen closely at the mere gush as you slide in once more. 

“Babe-” 

You push. 

“Think I can give more, just for good measure,” reassuring, and you hold her down so hard that the next load you give is caught deep inside her cunt. 

Pushing it all back in, where it stays. 

Her eyes pinch - and there’s no voice to be heard. All that’s shown is her slacked jaw, the air in her lungs passing through, soon filled with the shape of your lips pressed against hers. 

"It's so- it's so fucking warm inside me, baby-"

"Yeah?"

Rosé sniffles again as her body tries to shudder out the cum leaking from her slit. You don't let it happen though.

You keep breathing her in; she brackets your hips with what little strength she has left. It doesn’t take much, and you know. 

Because Rosé’s got you right where she wants, to the point where your bodies are so well molded into one where each heartbeat and thought are the same, feeling the suction of her pussy wrapped around your cock like it’s the missing piece. Half of ones together make a whole. Your cock fits so well. Above the soreness and debauchery. Once the mess is finally made. Where you’ll want to keep your cock warm and settled until you or her have finally had enough. She’s speaking nonsense still; and you just- keep- fucking going. Fucking into her cunt like it's the only thing you know how to do. Even when the throbbing subsides. 

Until you decide to fully embrace her. 

The heat’s still present where it stays; you don’t even make a move to clean yourself up - it’s too early for that. Instead, the sheets are pulled over you and her, take her fingers in your hands, and hold them right as they are. 

You look at the clock on the nightstand; a little before midnight. “We’re showering together, right?” Rosé pouts her lips, burrowing her head into the space of your collarbone, hand held up and over scratching your hair. 

“Yeah,” she says, nestling her head further up against your chest. “A few minutes here, please. With me. Stay with me.” The disarm is already in effect, and you wonder if you’re at the right place and at the right time; where your heart should be, it’s a brief period of pensiveness. 

–

You blacked out. When your vision comes to, there’s nothing much for your eyes to see except the endless void of darkness that stretches over the room until the glow from the streetlights below breaks through the window. Each blink you do makes you wonder how much time has passed - along with the countless questions of what’s to come next. The thrum of your heart pounds heavy against your ears, but you’re breathing, and alive. You also notice that the space on your right side is a lot lighter compared to earlier, the quick rush of anxiety plaguing your mind. 

That all changes when you look out the window again, specks of white floating down gracefully. 

It’s snowing again. 

“Oh, you’re up,” Rosé’s voice instantly reels you, towel wrapped around her neck and in some comfortable clothes. “I was just about to wake you.” She crawls back on the bed to your side and kisses your cheek. The moment alone holding your heart in limbo. “Sorry, I thought I’d get ahead and use the shower first. You looked so peaceful sleeping.” 

Only she would be the one to blame for that. 

“Why are you dressed up?” You ask, fixing your posture and leaning into Rosé’s face for another quick kiss. She draws away playfully, wagging her head a ‘no’ that makes you lean back as a result. “We would’ve saved water if we went together.” 

“It’s fine,” Rosé tuts, ruffling your hair. “Go shower and get dressed. I wanna go for a walk.” 

“Really? Why? Right now? It’s late.” 

“But it’s also Christmas,” Rosé adds, walking away while you’re finally sitting on the edge of the bed. “We won’t be out for long. And besides, what’s wrong with a little more cardio?” 

You give her a smirk at the end in agreement. Her feet are cemented in place until you reach forward with an arm, pulling her in. Once reeled she tilts her head in surrendering because she knows that you'd be clingy without explicitly saying it.

She's back on your lap. She's yours. She can be yours again. A wish that you want to make true.

"Gonna let me go?" Rosé asks, giggling, and you kiss her.

"Maybe," you answer, leaning up for another peck since it's not hurting anybody. "Just wanted to tell you Merry Christmas."

–

When the snowflakes hit your skin, part of you on the inside is jumping for joy. It’s even better as your ears are filled with Rosé’s contagious laughter, running up the sidewalk and picking up clumps of snow in her hand. 

You make sure to be right behind her, for as much as you can.

–

“This whole thing has been a blast,” she says, slowing her pace when you and she are on the edge of a bridge. In the late hours in the city, where anyone could get away with anything, it’s just you and her - five feet apart from each other, walking along, wandering wherever your feet go. “An absolute dream come true for me. For us.”

The snow starts to land on your head along with your shoulders. 

“Part of me makes me wonder,” Rosé continues, hands wrapped around her long scarf, keeping her neck warm, nodding her head side to side when her eyes eventually land on the sea of locks put on the fencing of the bridge. She knows exactly where she is. You know exactly where she took you. “Would any of this be different if we didn’t go our separate ways?” 

“It’s a pretty good thought,” you tell her. Your exhale shows your warm breath dissipating into the cold air, causing you to bunch up your shoulders to your ears to make the heat stay. “Makes me wonder if you’d put it in your old diary back in middle school.” 

“Hey. Fuck you.” 

You shrug your shoulders with a smirk and walk closer to her. “I know you. You would.” 

Her feet stop at a random padlock just underneath the railing. She slides it into her palm, examining it. It’s not anybody she knows in particular - just the fact that what stood out to her was the neat handwriting of the initials drawn up in a Sharpie. You feel her gaze on you when you approach her side, taking a closer look at what’s in her hand, slotting your palm underneath. 

She keeps staring at the lock, leaning your face into your chest. You bury your nose in her hair, thoughts trailing to someplace where you don’t want to think about anything else. 

You point at another fancy lock decorated with gems. She points out an old-fashioned one next to you. 

‘Hey,” she says once more, looking up. The lift in your eyebrows serves as the appropriate response. Silence starts to grow between you two, the gust of wind blowing through your bodies. 

Rosé tries to read into your expression: stoic and mysterious. She knows that you’re not one to vocalize your thoughts out loud - instead, you stay quiet and listen obediently, waiting for your turn to speak when it’s the right time. A soft smirk spreads across her lips, knowing exactly what’s going on in that brain or yours. 

You wrap your arms around her and rest your chin on top of her forehead. “I think you have a general idea of what I’m thinking about right now.” 

She’s laughing into your chest, unable to look up. You look down to see what was taking her so long, only to realize that she’s hiding her tears away from the world. 

Somehow, like before, you know exactly how to comfort her when the emotions are starting to boil within her. “Rosie.” You’re saying her name softly, clutching her tighter now, the grasp of your fingers reaching to where you wish for them to stay. 

“I just wished that maybe-” and her voice breaks. Composure is starting to weigh down on your shoulders; heart rate rising in uncertainty. “Maybe if weren’t such idiots back then, we-” and the sentence doesn’t even get finished there. She’s trying so hard to put her thoughts into words, “like maybe in another life we weren’t like- well, this.” 

Her face is back in your hands, the tears building and spilling all at once. You give her a look of sorrowfulness - hopelessly, desperately, longing to make her realization a reality. 

“Memories, Rosé,” you’re telling her, “they’re all just memories. We don’t need the memories. Depreciating yourself isn’t gonna make anything better because we both grew.”

The tears well up in your eyes, too. You may be broken, but she’s also the same.

"I hope you can forgive me for a lot of things; for cutting you off and leaving you in the dark," she tells you, jaw twitching - unable to make eye contact, linking her fingers with yours, "but if there's one thing you choose to never forgive me on, my dear, is the fact that I wasted all your precious years."

(I know, you’re saying to her, in tandem with a verse that you’ll recite as penance once you and her part ways. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care about any of that. I just want the both of us to be there for each other, no matter what happens in between.) 

–

As of now, you’re mentally checked out from all the logistics once everything’s been checked in at the airport, waiting to board. Rosé’s dozed off on your arm. She thought that it was a good idea to get less than the usual six hours of sleep and her current state serves to be the consequence. The scarf draped around her shoulders was yours, adamant in wanting to save another keepsake from you; she claims that it looked better on her. (Which is a bit of an insult, you think. Though it’ll do the job of covering up the bruises along her neck just fine.) 

But, things are played out differently in the final act of the return trip. 

You hear her flight announce the boarding phase and tap her shoulder to wake her up. She shoots up instantly, blinking. Everything else falls into place: gathering her belongings, rolling up her luggage to where she can grab and go, fixing up her appearance with that one pair of sunglasses that she likes so much, but doesn’t wear just yet. You walk with her to the main walkway of the gates, getting all of the last looks you’ll possibly have in these last few moments. 

The familiarity with distance affects the healthy human mind to think of it as some sort of curse rather than a luxury - depending on the situation, you’ll take it with a grain of salt. 

Her arms are folded with her handbag and jacket, staring at you so eagerly. “So, you just gonna stay quiet this whole time or-” 

You scoff, because it’s the truth - and so like you. “Uh- well, I was just wondering,” you say, scratching your head shamelessly. “Are you sure you want go forward with this?” 

Rosé bobs her head for yes. The decision’s already been made; no point in changing it. “Unless you want to create a shit storm with our friends when we get back, then by all means go for it.” 

“Right.” you deadpan. “Just for accountability.” 

“If things do go south, you know where my flight’s headed. And given the present situation that you’re in, I’m in no position to make that choice for you,” she says, looking over to the tv board to see where her boarding gate was at. “Guess this is it, " she declares, sighing, "any last things or words you want to do or say?” 

You say something. And you do something. You pull her in for a hug, get the last whiffs of her coconut scented shampoo in her hair; she kisses you. You kiss her forehead as her eyes flutter shut; you hold her a bit too long for your liking, but tells you that she doesn’t mind. Don’t be far away, okay? At least let me catch up for once. 

She tells you: never. It’s a running inside joke. The classic game of cat and mouse, an old fabled goose chase; you’ll keep going after her even when you don’t expect it to happen. She’ll lure you back in so easily that all it doesn’t sound terrible as it seems. 

–

When you do settle on the plane, you have your moment of getting the window seat. Your eyes are getting familiar with the arraignment, how cramped the leg room is, the assortment of movies you know that you’ll sleep through. There’s a lot of things circilng around your head; either one at a time or all at once. This fever dream is coming to and end, and you’re left torn to not tell the tale. 

You check your phone and turn off do not disturb, taking in all the notifications that you missed the past few days. The work messages, fill-ins with coworkers and friends; then there’s Jennie’s messages. 

“I’m so fucked.” You manage, muttering under your breath. Tongue tip to your teeth to mentally prepare youself for what’s to come. 

–

(You keep thinking about that night on the bridge, holding Rosé in your arms - in midst of the cold weather hitting you. She tells you that this getaway was everything to her, and it’s the simplicity in the delivery that makes you want to share those snap-shot moments with her even more. Nothing else mattered to you: managing to fall in love with her all over again. 

We can try, you’re saying, we can always try again, and she smiles through the tears. You and me. Together. Properly.

“I’ve always loved the idea of starting over. It’s exciting. All of these things. All of these moments we spent together, it just felt right,” and her gaze goes crestfallen. “Never really thought that I’d come back to you, and I couldn’t be more proud.” 

And once you’re way up in the sky, it does feel like some sort of whirlpool back into the reality of life, the final fade to black shot - you look out the window and ponder: a choice can be made still. All of the stars have to align at just the right time for it to happen. It can happen. You could alter the course of the story if you just made the right calls. Maybe you will. 

Your gaze falls down to the ocean below - and maybe it’s a long shot, winding into a pipe dream. 

You’ll never realize what you can do unless you take the chance.) 

[supernovafics]

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

read part one here!

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 6.8k words

summary: in which spending the night with steve only makes things more complicated 

warnings: explicit language, cheating (both reader and steve are cheating on their partners), implied smut, a lot of angst

author’s note: did this for the like ten ppl that asked for it<333 i listened to a lot (A LOT) of i, carrion (icarian) by hozier while writing this so that pretty much explains the super angsty vibes we have throughout most of this lol (angst with a happy ending though so no need to hate me! 🫶🏾)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

The time couldn’t have been later than six o’clock. 

For the most part, it was still dark outside, but you could see the beginning bits of the sun rising through Steve’s thin curtains. 

And it was then that you realized that you were still in Steve’s bed when you definitely shouldn’t have been. A fresh wave of guilt began to settle in your stomach as you shifted around to face him. He was still asleep, lips slightly parted and hair a mess. 

You needed to leave— you actually should’ve left hours ago, but you’d fallen asleep way too easily in his bed; something that you’d actually never done before. And even now you still couldn’t find it in you to move, so you instead kept looking at him and pushed away the guilt that quietly gnawed at your stomach and told you that you should be running away right now. 

“You’re staring,” Steve mumbled after a few moments, eyes still shut and the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face. 

You quickly shook your head even though he obviously couldn’t see you. “Not true.” 

His eyes opened and you immediately closed yours, knowing that he caught you but you still pretended as if you were innocent. 

You felt him poke your side barely a second later and you laughed despite yourself. Your eyes opened and you didn’t hesitate to meet his gaze, but then seeing the small happy smile on his face reminded you of why you shouldn’t have been in his bed right then. 

You shifted so that your head was back against the pillow and you stared up at his ceiling, focusing on a random spot. “So, um, are you feeling okay after last night?”

You decided against specifying exactly what happened last night to save you from pointing out the elephant in the room— him being drunk and showing up to your house and a conversation that was honest but also not at all somehow leading here. 

“Yeah, just a headache, but not really.”

You promptly decided to use that as an excuse to get out of his bed. “I’ll go grab something for you. Is the aspirin still in the same spot in your bathroom?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to do that.”

You shook your head as you pulled the blanket off and got up. “No, it’s fine.”

You stepped through the door that connected to his bathroom. You avoided looking at yourself in the mirror, for reasons that you couldn’t fully decipher, and simply rummaged through the drawer underneath his sink for a quick second. 

Steve was still in the same position in his bed when you returned to his room, except now he was looking at you with a confused look in his eyes. 

He didn’t say anything or call you out on your current antics though as you tossed over the bottle of aspirin to him, and then you realized something. 

“Oh, you need water too. I’ll be right back.”

“You don’t—”

You waved him off before he could finish his statement and slipped out of his room, not giving him a chance to say anything else. 

It didn’t take long, you knew his house fairly well, and doing the mundane task of finding a glass and filling it with some water was enough to help clear your mind and make you think about everything logically. You realized just how much of a mistake last night was, but the only good thing was that this would be easy to recover from. You two could still go your separate ways and let your different lives completely go back to how they were before you two started sneaking around with each other. 

When you got back to Steve’s room, he was sitting up and leaning back against his headboard. He pushed a hand through his hair, which actually did very little to tame its messiness. 

“Here you go,” You said as you handed over the glass. 

He smiled at you. “Thanks.”

You simply nodded in response at first and then you were speaking. “Yeah, no problem.”

You lingered awkwardly by his bed because you didn’t want to get back in, but you felt as if there was a lot more you should say before you left. “Hey, um, can we agree to actually not do this anymore? I still stand by everything I said in the bathroom yesterday.”

His confused look returned. “We didn’t do anything last night.”

“Yeah, and I think that’s somehow worse,” You told him as you turned away because it became too hard to hold his gaze right then. You grabbed your hoodie off the back of his door and slipped it on. “Let’s just let things go back to normal, okay? You with Nancy and me with Jamie.”

It didn’t necessarily feel right saying the words, but they felt needed. You had to say them. You had to pretend that everything was fine, or that it at least had the potential to be that way. 

“I broke up with Nancy last night.”

For a second, all you could do was simply look at him as the words processed in your brain because at first you were convinced that you heard him wrong. But once they did process, you were immediately blurting out, “What? When?”

“Before I got drunk and saw you,” He answered, voice way too soft to match this huge news that he was dropping on you. 

You shook your head and sighed as you realized that everything wasn’t going to easily go back to normal and be fine like you wanted it to be. “God, Steve, I really wish you would’ve told me that last night.”

“Would it have changed anything? Is it changing anything now?”

“I wouldn’t have let myself come here,” You answered immediately. “If you had told me this when you were standing on my front lawn, I would’ve told you to go and try to get back with her.”

There was a lot more that you could’ve said— that you would’ve seen the conversation you two had last night right here in his bedroom entirely different if you’d known, and you wouldn’t have let yourself fall asleep in his arms if you knew that there wasn’t any hope for things to go back to normal because he no longer had a “normal” to go back to. And you wouldn’t let yourself be here with him in this moment either. 

“Is it changing anything now?” Steve asked again when he noticed that you hadn’t answered that question. 

“No... No, it’s not,” You said after the briefest moment of hesitation and then turned away from him again. “I’m gonna go. You should try to fix things with her.”

“Why do you want me to be with her so bad?” You could hear him ask as you closed his bedroom door behind you. 

Because then I’d feel a little less terrible about all of this. You wanted to practically scream that at him. You wanted him to understand that if things could just go back to how they were then you’d feel okay about how shitty of a person you’d been for the past month and a half. At least, that was the hope. 

However, you didn’t tell him any of that. 

“It’s just, it’s the right thing to do, Steve,” You responded loud enough for him to hear you through the shut door. 

You headed down the stairs, not listening to see if Steve said anything else, and you were in the middle of putting on your shoes when you heard his door open again. You tied your sneakers quickly and terribly because you hoped that you’d be able to slip out before Steve made it down the stairs. 

Perhaps you two needed to have a better conversation that would actually come to some sort of proper conclusion, but you couldn’t do that right then. And then you quickly figured that if you kept pushing him away, maybe he’d get the hint and push you away too, or simply let go. 

You were only able to pull open the front door before you abruptly stopped your fast movements.  

Because Nancy was standing in front of you, finger seconds away from ringing the doorbell. Her eyes met yours and you suddenly wished for the ground to swallow you whole. 

She looked like a girl that had just been broken up with, eyes puffy and red like she’d been crying all night, and you knew that was entirely your fault. An immediate “I’m so sorry” was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t say that, not right then. She had the saddest look on her face that was quickly replaced with surprise and confusion when she saw you standing where you were.

“Oh, oh, hey. I was, um… I was just leaving,” You said to her, trying to sound as normal as possible but this was perhaps the most not normal situation ever.

Her eyes immediately narrowed at you. “Oh my god, I knew it.” 

You wondered what she meant. Did she mean that she knew that Steve was cheating, or she knew that he was cheating with you?

You obviously didn’t ask her to clarify, though. Instead, you slipped past her and started walking away. The last thing you heard was Steve saying, “Nance, what are you doing here?” and her responding with some angry words that you felt as if you shouldn’t have heard.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

After the moment you and Steve had on New Year’s— an abrupt kiss on a swing set that led to a lot more kissing in his car—  a sort of routine quickly formed. It became a cycle of ending up in his car or your car or his house, and it was exactly three weeks after New Year’s when he finally saw the inside of yours. 

It was a rare one-off situation where your parents were gone for the weekend and you knew that you weren’t supposed to have anyone over; not even Jamie, even though they’d known him for practically forever. 

You had never had the urge to break the rule before and Jamie wanted to keep a good relationship with your parents and was also too nice to suggest breaking it either, so you initially thought that your nights would be quiet. 

Except you now had Steve in your life. And he didn’t mind breaking the rule of your parents who he hadn’t even met, so he came over to your house around ten o’clock. 

You were immediately trying to pull him in for a kiss when you closed the front door behind him, but he pulled back with a teasing smile.

“Can I at least get a tour before you try to seduce me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him but still nodded at his request. “Of course, I’m so sorry, where are my manners?”

You grabbed his hand before you could think too much about it, and quickly led him through your house and pointed out everything. “Kitchen, small dining room, living room, guest room and bathroom down the hall. And that’s pretty much it for down here. Nothing as extravagant as your house.” 

“I like it.”

“Don’t get too attached because this is the only time that this will happen here.” 

You didn’t outwardly say the exact reason why that was probably the case— it would never make sense for him to come over any other time; it would either be too risky with your parents right down the hall or during a time when Jamie was over. But, Steve understood all of what was left unspoken.

“Got it,” He said and then he smiled at you. “Can I see upstairs?”

You nodded, leading the way once again. “My parents' room is down that way, and I’m right here.”

The door was already open so you let him walk in first. There wasn’t too much you found embarrassing about your bedroom, not the full shelf of books or the few posters that hung on the wall above your desk. The only thing that made your cheeks warm in embarrassment was the wallpaper on your walls that you had since you were a kid and had hoped to change sooner rather than later, but you had just never gotten around to it.  

Steve looked at you after a moment. “Cute room.”

“One day those pink unicorns will no longer be on the wall.”

“I like them. They add character.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes even as you laughed at his words. “Shut up.”

The teasing smirk on his face didn’t manage to annoy you as he stepped closer to you and the distance between you two became nonexistent. He leaned in and kissed you then because that was what was supposed to happen and it probably should’ve happened sooner; what you two were doing wasn’t meant to be anything more or less than physical. 

Your freshly made bed became a mess in a matter of moments and clothes were quickly scattered on the floor; his jeans and t-shirt gone and your own tank top and shorts tossed somewhere to the side too.

It was fairly early for a Friday night, and you kind of wondered how Steve could even be here right now, but neither of you ever asked where each other’s person was. It was just quietly understood that when you two were together it meant that some excuse had been made or some lie had been told so that this could happen. 

A part of you knew that you’d eventually feel bad about all of this, but it had only been three weeks and you were able to forget about how bad you should’ve been feeling when you and Steve were together like this; not an ounce of space between your bodies and limbs tangled beneath bedsheets. Weirdly enough, it just felt too right even though it was objectively wrong. 

Soft kisses trailed along your neck and collarbone and then proceeded to move lower and lower. All you could do was sigh in contentment and your eyes slipped shut as you let Steve turn your mind to mush for the time being. 

“You’ve read all of these?” Steve asked you later; when you were heading back into your bedroom after using the bathroom and you saw him standing next to your bookshelf. 

He was shirtless with only his jeans hanging low on his hips, which made sense since you were wearing his t-shirt right then; it had been the closest thing to you afterward. Now, though, you pulled it off and tossed it over to him and then went to grab your own shirt. 

“Yeah,” You simply answered his question as you searched around your room for your underwear and slipped it on once you spotted it partially under your bed. 

Steve pulled one of the books off of the shelf, you couldn’t see what the title said even as you moved a little closer to him. “This is the one that we had to read for that English project last year.” 

You nodded. “Oh, yeah, I liked it a lot, actually.”

“I barely remember anything that happened in it.” 

“That’s not surprising and it’s probably the reason why we got a B+ on that project.”

Steve placed the book on the shelf and then turned around to face you. “Hey, a B+ is great.”

“Yeah, for you, but for a person that actually really likes English, not so much,” You told him and then smiled to show that, for the most part, you were joking. 

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry for holding you back on that project.”

“Apology accepted,” You said. “I also really don’t even need an apology because I’ve had much worse partners than you on things before.”

“Okay, in that case, I feel honored that I haven’t been the worst person you’ve ever had to work with.”

You laughed a little. “And I hope I was the best person you’ve ever had to work with.”

Steve nodded. “Of course, you definitely were.”

You were pretty sure he was joking— even though he didn’t entirely sound like it— so you continued playing along. “I feel honored.”

He stepped closer to you and for a second you thought that he was going to kiss you again, and although that never happened after, you didn’t think that you would’ve reminded him of that or pushed him away. He didn’t kiss you, though; he stopped before he got that close to you and started heading toward your open bedroom door instead. 

“I should probably go,” He said, and you nodded in agreement. 

He could’ve easily stayed the night if either of you wanted that to happen. But, he didn’t ask and you didn’t offer. It would’ve been wrong to, you both could silently agree on that. 

You were kind of starting to become okay with things becoming more and more wrong, though. 

This was meant to be mindless and solely physical, but it was becoming a sort of routine, second nature in a way, to talk about random nonsense or joke around with each other. 

However, staying the night felt like a line you two shouldn’t cross; it felt different than just talking for a while after. It felt a thousand times more intimate and serious and like it went several steps past just having sex or being two people who talked about way too much with each other sometimes. 

“I’ll see you later,” Steve said before he opened your front door. 

“Yeah,” You nodded. “Goodnight.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Barely a month later, and the line had been crossed.

The unspoken rule was broken and there wasn’t even any point to spiral out about it because that somehow wasn’t the worst thing that happened. 

Everything was ruined, or it at least soon would be because you couldn’t imagine Nancy sitting on this information and not telling anyone. She was rightfully mad and maybe you deserved whatever would happen once all of this spread around the school. 

Your walk home from Steve’s house was quick and the sun was completely up by the time you made it through your front door, but it was still early enough that your parents were still asleep and wouldn’t know that you’d been gone for the entire night. 

A part of you wanted to simply just go to sleep when you stepped back into your bedroom, sleep through the entire day, and just forget about everything. But then there was the other part of you that couldn’t not think about everything; the inevitable explosion that was coming sooner rather than later, and it didn’t even feel entirely dramatic to view it that way. 

Ultimately, you decided to take a shower because it felt like the only thing that would help you feel a little better. It ended up being the longest shower you’d had in a while and it actually didn’t do much to make you feel any differently. There was still the guilt that had made a home in your stomach when you woke up and it was now coupled with a lot of dread. 

You left for school at the time you were supposed to leave, saying a quick goodbye to your parents before stepping out of the door, but you turned left instead of right at the end of your block and ended up at a diner. You stayed there for probably way too long, sipping coffee instead of anything else because you couldn’t stomach the thought of having actual food right then. 

You thought about how you could fix things, and if there was even any hope to fix anything, and also what exactly was there to fix. You didn’t want to hurt Jamie, but you were certain that you did, and what could you even say to him now that would magically “fix” what you’d done? 

That you loved him and still wanted to be with him? That everything that happened with Steve was a stupid mistake and you regretted it entirely? 

You had lied a lot over the past month and a half and you didn’t want to just continue piling onto it. But, then the thought of being a thousand percent honest felt way too scary. 

And when thinking about how fucked your life was became too much, you took the newspaper that a random older man offered you and sipped more coffee, and reread the same articles over and over again. 

You eventually showed up to school halfway through lunch. Missing the entire day felt a bit too cowardly and you also remembered that you had to take a Chemistry quiz at the end of the day. However, you didn’t immediately step out of your car once you were parked in the school parking lot. Instead, you leaned your head back against the headrest and let out a sigh, eyes slipping shut in the process as you mentally prepared yourself for whatever you'd have to face inside those walls. 

An abrupt quick knock against your window scared you and made you open your eyes. It was Jamie standing at your passenger side window and you could feel your heart speed up in your chest, and it wasn’t because you’d just been startled by him. 

But, he didn’t look mad at you, just confused, and that felt like a good sign; maybe that meant that the “inevitable” actually hadn’t happened yet. 

You gave him a small wave and then he opened the door and proceeded to get in your car. 

“Where’ve you been?”

“I wasn’t really feeling good this morning, but then I remembered my Chem quiz last period and I don’t wanna miss that.”

He nodded. “Oh, okay.”

He wasn’t looking at you— you could tell that he was purposely avoiding eye contact with you, actually— and it was that that made you realize that he knew. 

“I’m so sorry,” You blurted out. 

“Is it true?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Finally, his eyes met yours and the hurt look on his face made you want to break his gaze, but it would’ve been too shitty to look away because you suddenly felt bad. “I don’t get it... Steve Harrington? Really? Do you wanna be with him now?”

For a second, you didn’t say anything. You couldn’t; no words would form on your lips. And it was then that you realized that you weren’t ready to be honest with this guy sitting next to you who you’d known since you were twelve and considered your best friend since then too. It shouldn’t have felt so fucking hard, but it did, and the worst part of it was that you knew that you had to tell him the truth anyway. 

“Honestly, Steve has nothing to do with how I feel about us and you,” You ultimately said, realizing that you weren’t completely answering Jamie’s question, but he didn’t call you out on it. “I’d been feeling… off about things for a while, but I wanted to pretend like I wasn’t. I wanted to pretend that everything was fine and normal between you and me, so I pushed those “off” feelings away and buried them down, and acted as if they didn’t exist. I lied a lot to myself because I was scared that I’d mess everything up. And then I saw Steve on New Year’s and we did something stupid and shitty that didn’t feel that way at the time, and that’s when I started lying to you. And all of the lying and what me and him were doing never felt completely terrible and wrong until yesterday. But, by the time I actually wanted to do the right thing and try to be a good person, it was too late. And maybe that’s actually a good thing because I would’ve just kept lying to myself and to you too if things hadn’t blown up this way.”

You were rambling and probably not making any sense right then. The thought of ruining absolutely everything still weighed so heavily on you, even though the damage was already pretty much done. There was no recovering from this and there was no “fixing” things, you realized now. However, you were still explaining and explaining and hoping that maybe things could somehow be okay.  

A confused look crossed Jamie’s face. “Why didn’t you just tell me how you were feeling about us before?”

“Because I’m a coward and I wanted to avoid all of this,” You admitted. “And also because it was just so confusing. I love you, you’re my best friend, so it didn’t make sense to me why I was no longer in love with you. And the thought of having any sort of conversation about this scared the shit out of me because I don’t wanna lose you completely.”

Things became quiet for a second and Jamie looked away from you, staring straight ahead at the parking lot instead. 

After a moment, he started speaking again. “Remember back in seventh grade, and I’m pretty sure most of eighth grade too, you used to make me turn around or close my eyes whenever you wanted to tell me some sort of secret?”

The abrupt subject change surprised you, but you nodded anyway. “Yeah, I remember that.”

You weren’t ever entirely sure why you would do that so much. Jamie was the first person you’d ever gotten super close to and you felt like you could tell any and all of your secrets to him, but the act of doing so scared you, so you’d make him look away whenever you did. He thought it was a little weird at first, but he came around to the antic after the first few times. 

“You eventually stopped doing that and you started telling me everything right to my face,” He continued and you understood where he was going then. “I thought that meant that you felt like you could tell me anything, especially all of the shitty stuff.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” You said, and it was a bad excuse, but it was also honest. “And I know that I just ended up hurting you, anyway. Probably a thousand times worse than if I just told you the truth from the beginning.”

He looked at you again. “So, what’s the truth?”

You wanted to break his gaze so badly, but you forced yourself not to. “I love you, I really do, but I want things to go back to how they used to be with us. I wanna just be friends. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” He said softly, and he didn’t sound completely hurt, but you still felt terrible. 

“I’m sorry,” You told him again because it felt like the only thing to say right then. 

He lightly shook his head at you, like he didn’t want you to keep saying it. “At least I don’t have to be scared of your dad anymore.”

His joke made you smile and inwardly sigh in relief; maybe things actually could somehow be okay. 

“There’s literally never been any reason to be scared of him. He likes you more than me. Who else can he talk about basketball with?”

Jamie cracked a small smile at that and a comfortable silence lingered for a bit as you took a look at the time displayed across the dashboard. There were only about fifteen minutes left of lunch and it probably would’ve been a good use of your time to focus on studying for your quiz later, but you didn’t bring it up right then and you didn’t move to grab your bookbag from the backseat. This moment actually felt okay and you didn’t want to be the one to break it.

“I’m just realizing that you didn’t answer my question from before,” Jamie eventually said. 

You glanced at him, confused. “What question?”

“Do you want to be with him? With Steve?”

You weren’t entirely sure how to respond to that, but you were opening your mouth to stutter out something anyway because staying silent felt like it would’ve been an answer in itself. 

Before you could manage to say anything, though, Jamie continued. “Actually, no wait, never mind, I don’t think I wanna know the answer.”

He still didn’t sound entirely mad, but another soft-spoken “I’m sorry” was on the tip of your tongue. However, he was opening the door and stepping out of your car before it could fall from your lips. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

This time when the rocks began hitting your window in the middle of the night, they were expected. 

You had actually called Steve asking him to come over and he didn’t say no. There was the smallest part of you that thought that maybe he would. 

You pushed your window open and looked down at him standing on your front lawn. “Come up.”

A confused look crossed his face. “You’re not coming down?”

You shook your head. “No, come up.” 

It was risky, your parents were right down the hall and this was pretty different from you sneaking out, but you couldn’t really find it in you to care. 

The way the roof was angled made it easy for Steve to pull himself up and maneuver his way toward your bedroom window. Steve wasn’t completely graceful doing it, but he tried to be, which made it funnier, but you didn’t laugh and instead only smiled at him once he was through the window and standing in front of you. 

“Did that look cooler than it felt?”

That time you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “No, sorry.”

He pushed a hand through his hair and gave you the smallest smile. “A lie would’ve been appreciated.”

“Oh, what I meant to say was that was actually the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” You told him and he laughed. 

“Thank you,” He said and then slipped off his jacket and laid it on the back of your desk chair, which left him in just his white t-shirt. “I didn’t see you around school today.”

“Oh yeah, I didn’t really want to go today,” You said with a shrug that you hoped feigned the proper amount of nonchalance. Your answer was only half of the truth— you actually didn’t want to go, but you also couldn’t seem to force yourself to step out of your car after your conversation with Jamie, it felt too hard to, so you instead ended up back at the diner for another handful of hours. 

You sat on the floor at the foot of your bed now, leaning back against it, and Steve followed suit, leaving only a little bit of space between you two. 

You turned your head to look at him. “How bad is everything?”

“Not terrible,” He answered after the briefest moment of hesitation and you could tell that he was attempting to downplay it all for your sake. “It’ll probably blow over by Monday.”

You weren’t sure that was possible, given just how popular Steve was, but you nodded anyway and your eyes fell to your hands in your lap because it was easier than doing anything else. 

Maybe he saw through the half-hearted nod because then he was whispering to you. “It’ll be okay.”

You didn’t say anything in response to those quiet words, but they did manage to soften something inside of you. You pushed away the thought of school and what Monday would look like for you; what everyone probably now thought about you and the shit people would say because of it. 

You looked at Steve again and he gave you a small hopeful-looking smile that you suddenly felt like you didn’t deserve. 

“I feel like I was way too mean to you this morning and I’m really sorry about that,” You abruptly told him. 

Steve shook his head at your words. “It’s okay. Doesn’t matter.”

His hand found one of yours then, intertwining them. It felt like way too tender and sweet of an action, something that had never been done between you two, but it also felt entirely right. 

“Did you ever think about why it was so easy for us to do it? To lie and cheat?” You asked him, not holding eye contact and instead focusing on the floor. 

You knew your own answer to the question, but you wondered what his was because he never seemed entirely unhappy with Nancy, and since you two rarely ever talked about your respective relationships, you felt like you knew nothing about where his head had been. 

“Honestly, I didn’t think about it.”

“Why did you do it?” You asked. “Why’d you want to kiss me that night?”

There was no pause or hesitation before he answered. “Because it was you.”

That was probably the cheesiest thing you’d ever heard, so you immediately nudged his shoulder and rolled your eyes. “Stop it. Be serious.”

“I am serious,” His hand gave yours a light squeeze, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You remember the first time we met up after school to work on that English project?”

You did remember it, but you only nodded because you really wanted to hear what he had to say about it. 

“We hung out for like two hours that day. Worked on the project for a bit and then just talked about random stuff for most of the time, and it was all just so easy for some reason; so damn easy to talk to you. I looked forward to every day that we had to work on the project after that. And then I think it was one of the last few days of us doing it that you randomly mentioned that you had a boyfriend and I realized that I had zero shot with you.”

You weren’t entirely sure what you had expected Steve to say, but you knew that it wasn’t that. He was right that the conversations you two had then had been pretty effortless and nice, but hearing that he liked you all the way back then felt like something that you immediately wanted to shake your head at and deny. There hadn’t been any moments during those two weeks that gave you any indication that he liked you in that way. Yes, he was flirty, and he wasn’t even dating Nancy yet so it could’ve been plausible that he really was flirting with you, but you figured that was just his personality; everyone knew just how damn charming he was. 

“And then all those months later I saw you in that backyard. And things were going fine with me and Nancy, but I suddenly really wanted to talk to you. Because you were alone, and I thought that meant that you and Jamie were over because why else would you be alone on New Year’s? But, no he was still in the picture, but you didn’t tell me to fuck off because of him, so I didn’t.”

Things got quiet for a second and before you could really even think about how to respond to that, Steve was speaking again. “Why’d you let me kiss you that night?”

“I didn’t think about it too much,” You immediately answered him, suddenly finding it so easy to be honest. “Deep down, I knew it was a bad idea, but that wasn’t enough to make me wanna stop it.”

You shifted closer to him, closing the last bit of distance between you two and leaning your head against his shoulder. 

“It was the kind of bad idea that felt like a good one once it was happening if that makes sense,” You continued. “It felt nice and good and really… Right. Even though it shouldn’t have.” 

“Yeah, it always felt right,” Steve agreed, voice soft. “It still does.” 

A part of you couldn’t help but think that even though this moment felt right too, maybe it also shouldn’t have felt that way. But, everything else— what made this all so wrong in the first place— was already ruined and over, so perhaps it was okay to finally lean into this rightness since you wouldn’t end up feeling bad or guilty about it in the long run.  

You pulled your hand away from Steve’s and then shifted so that you were in his lap, legs on either side of him and knees pushing into the carpet below you.

Your eyes met his soft brown ones that looked unsure of what you were about to do or say next. 

“I really like you.”

It was the first time you were admitting it out loud and as the words fell from your lips and settled in the quiet air of your bedroom, you realized just how long you’d been aching to finally say them to him. 

The smile that spread across Steve’s face practically melted your insides. “I really like you too.”

Your hands came up to settle on his shoulders as you nodded and smiled back at him. “Cool, nice to know that we both like each other.”

“Really like each other,” He corrected you and then leaned in to press the quickest kiss against your cheek, which made you laugh a little. 

“Oh, sorry, you’re right,” You said and then it was your turn to lean in. You brushed your nose against his and your eyes slipped shut as you whispered your next words against his lips. “Really like each other.”

You started pulling back but Steve’s mouth chased yours, putting an abrupt end to your teasing. You gave in easily and leaned into him, returning his eagerness and inwardly sighing in contentment at the feeling of his lips on yours. Your pajama shorts rode up as you shifted in his lap and one of Steve’s hands moved to rest on the sides of your thighs to keep you steady. 

You wouldn’t mind kissing him forever. It was a thought that hit you a lot in moments like this— as mouths explored and hands roamed— and this was the first time that that thought didn’t scare or worry you because it wouldn’t actually complicate things like it would have before.

You pulled away from his mouth after a moment and your lips found his neck instead. He let out a low hum the second you grazed your tongue over a particularly sensitive spot on his skin; you had discovered it the second time you two made out in his car and you adored the soft sound he made when you found it. 

“You still have unicorns on the wall,” Steve abruptly said and the words felt so random that you stopped your movements. 

You let out a laugh against his neck. “Shut up. Why are you bringing that up right now?”

“Sorry, I had to turn down the mood somehow,” He said and you pulled back to look at him. “Since your parents are right down the hall.”

“Well, I guess that just means that you have to be really quiet for once.” 

He let out a sound that resembled both a scoff and an amused laugh. “Me?” 

The tiniest hint of a smirk played on your lips as you nodded, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, you get really loud, Harrington.”

“I think we have very different memories of what this last month has been like,” He said and then he was tilting his head up and finding your lips again before you could potentially say anything in response to him.  

His hands moved from your thighs to your hips and he pulled you down against him. There were some layers separating you two— your thin shorts and the sweatpants Steve had on— but it was still the perfect amount of friction. You were brushing roughly against the tent in his sweatpants, which made you inadvertently moan into the kiss. 

“See?” Steve mumbled against your lips. “You’re the loud one.” 

You pulled back a little, it was too hard not to laugh, even as you playfully rolled your eyes at him. “That was very evil.” 

“I’m sorry,” He said, but smiled at you. “Come on, let’s go to my car. Maybe head to the lake? You can be as loud as you want there.”

You nodded at his teasing suggestion, but still slotted your lips against his once more, not wanting to move out of this position just yet. Steve didn’t seem to mind at all and he pulled you closer, as close as you two had been so many times before.

You could recognize that this was a weird set of circumstances and the smallest part of you was trying to figure out how much of it you’d end up looking back on and regretting— the lies and secrets that started all of this and ended up hurting people just like you knew it would. But, in this moment, you deliberately didn’t think about that. Instead, you focused on Steve and how glad you were that he was here and how happy you were to have him in your life. 

You whispered those sentimental words to him moments after they hit you; labeling them as cheesy and he immediately shook his head and told you that they weren’t. 

“I’m happy too,” He whispered back and one of his hands came up to find your cheek. The way he stroked your skin so tenderly made you suddenly turn shy under his gaze, but that didn’t make you want to look away from him. “That I’m here with you. And that you want me to be.”

“I think I’ll always want you to be,” You said, voice still soft and quiet, and it didn’t hit you how true those words were until they were out in the open. Maybe they were a bit blindly optimistic, but that didn’t change how much you meant them right then.

Steve kissed you again and you two stayed like that for a little longer before you moved out of his lap and the two of you finally headed to his car.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

let me know ur thoughts<333

[tokkiwrites]

Adstrum in ruinas. | part one.

General Marcus Acacius × F ! Reader

• summary: After your father’s sudden death, the general starts spending more time with you. At first, it feels strange, but as you come to learn, he isn't that big a brute everyone thinks he is.

• kind of slow burn ??, age gap (unspecified), forbidden love, marcus is pretty positive and in love, and he's cute, mutual pining, mentions of death, lmk if i missed anything.

• tokkis note: This is the first part of a little fic i wanted to write. the nsfw smut part will be in part two since this part already has almost 4k words. i just wanted a little backstory, so who knows... if you guys enjoy this part, maybe i will make it into a short series. i have lots of ideas. anyways, enjoy!!!

The palace felt colder after your father’s death. Though the sun still danced across the walls, nothing could have warmed you.

He had always been a quiet man, steady in his craft and in his love for you. You had grown up watching his hands work leather as though it were clay, each stitch meticulous, each touch with purpose. He had poured his life into the emperor’s court, shaping beauty out of necessity, and yet, when his time had come, they had discarded him without hesitation.

Accused of theft, he had been taken swiftly, the charges flimsy, the judgment quick. You had not been allowed to speak on his behalf. No one had. And when his life ended on the blade of the emperor’s justice, the world moved on as though he had never existed. You had not cried when they took him. There had been no time, no space for grief within the stone walls of the palace. Instead, you swallowed it whole, the ache settling deep within your chest, cold and unforgiving. You could not cry. In a way, crying was admitting to the gods that he was no longer, so you did not dare slip one tear. Let the pain seethe.

No one spoke his name. To your face, at least. Not until General Marcus Acacius.

You had known his name long before you ever knew his face. The empire’s greatest general, a man whose victories had carved Rome’s borders, who had spilled oceans of blood in the emperor’s name. He was the kind of man you had only seen from afar—untouchable, his presence a thing of myths whispered amongst men. To you, he was just that: a man. A cruel one.

So when he first appeared in the apothecary, you almost did not believe it was him. “The town speaks of… you,” he said, voice filling the room like the low roll of thunder. You turned sharply, the pestle slipping from your grasp. He stood in the doorway, tall and broad, his figure framed by the dim light spilling in from the corridor. His tunic was torn, a gash running across his arm where blood had soaked through. “So I heard,” he continued, stepping inside, “if it is true—”

“Oh, yes, I—yes, it is true,” you stammered, fumbling for words. His presence unsettled you, though you could not say why. Perhaps it was the way his gaze lingered or faint something in his tone. It was different this time. “I understand. You have my condolences,” he said. You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Something in your heart fluttered. “Thank you, General.” He was not a monster. Not here with you, not now, at least. It seemed sincere enough. You looked him up and down. Why did the blood keep on trickling? For a moment, you thought he might say more, but he simply gestured to his arm. “May I trouble you for assistance?” No monster.

At first, you thought nothing of his visits.

They were sporadic, a few days apart—always under the pretense of some new injury. A cut from a sparring match. A dislocated shoulder. The aches and pains of a soldier’s life. He came to you because it was easier than seeking the palace’s physicians, or so you told yourself. But then the days stretched into weeks, and his appearances grew more frequent.

You noticed the small ways in which he lingered. The way his eyes followed you as you moved about the room, the way his voice softened when he addressed you. It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible, but as the days passed, you found yourself waiting for the sound of his footsteps in the hall.

For even when he was far, his touch still lingered, you were still drunken on his smell, and his eyes still loved yours.

One evening, as you prepared a salve by the fire, he spoke. “Your father was a great man.” You froze, your hands stilling over the mortar. “I remember his work,” Marcus continued, his voice low. “He made my first pair of riding boots. I was just a young man then.” You swallowed dry, willing your voice to remain steady. “He never spoke of you.”

“No, I suppose he would not have.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, “So why are you telling me this?”

“Because he deserved better,” Marcus said simply. The words struck something deep within you. You looked away, vision blurring as the firelight flickered. Better.

He was all you could think about. Each night, from the first, you would sing sweet, mournful songs to the moon. Maybe it was because you missed your father dearly, and he filled that space up almost perfectly. Or maybe because, when he was with you, he did not seem to be the seven-headed monster all saw him as. Maybe pretending was his virtue.

But you were not the last judgment.

“Why are you always here?” you asked, voice sharper than you intended. He hesitated, his gaze flicking to the floor. “Do you not want me here?” A smile played on his lips. “That is not what I said.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because I do not understand.” You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “You never cared before. Why now?” His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away. But then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “It is nothing,” he said at last.

“It is not nothing,” you pressed. “You are avoiding the truth.”

He looked at you then, his expression guarded but not unkind. “And if I told you the truth, would you thank me for it? Or curse me for what I know?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “What is it that you mean?” Marcus hesitated, the words heavy on his tongue. “Your father,” he said finally. “He did not die because of the charges. He died because they needed a scapegoat. The emperor needed to remind the court what happens when you step out of line.” The room seemed to tilt, the walls closing in around you. “You knew?”

“I tried to stop it,” he said quietly. “But there are things even I cannot change.”

You shook your head, the ache in your chest threatening to overwhelm you. “I do not need your protection, Marcus. I do not need anyone’s.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was steady, but there was something raw in his eyes. “But you have it anyway.”

You wanted to be angry with him. You wanted to scream, to push him away, but instead, you stood there, frozen, as he reached for you. His hands were rough, calloused from years of battle, but they cradled your face with a tenderness that left you breathless. You craved it. And you will crave it until the day you are no more.

“I care for you more than I have ever cared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that terrifies me.”

Whatever happened to honor and victory? It was brutal. He was brutal. Raw, bloody, and utterly inhuman. But how could he also be the quiet after the storm? The wind that travels over still waters, the sound of dawn over mountains of dead people? You had to treat him many times, but the wounds he had inside his heart came well over the ones on his skin, you think.

You didn’t want to think of him—Marcus, with his dark eyes and the way they seemed to unravel you each time they met your own. But he lingered, even when he wasn’t here. He lingered in the soft creak of the door, the faint scent of leather and iron that clung to the air after he’d gone. It wasn’t fair, how much space he took in your thoughts. How much warmth he brought into this cold, empty life. You hated him for it. You hated yourself more.

“You work too hard.” You glanced up, startled by the suddenness of his words. He was seated by the fire, his armor stripped away, leaving only the simple tunic beneath. His shoulders were broad, his posture commanding even in repose. “You say that as though there’s an alternative,” you replied, turning back to the herbs in your hands.

“You could rest,” he said simply. “And do what? Dream of better days?” The bitterness in your voice surprised even you. Marcus leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You deserve better days.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Finally, you set the pestle down and met his gaze. “Better days won’t bring my father back.”

“No,” he agreed. “But they might give you something to hope for.” You shook your head, unwilling to let yourself be drawn into his optimism. “Hope is for fools, General.”

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But sometimes, it’s all we have.”

He wanted to hold you, to let his body meld with yours, ask you to run away to far lands. Let him take care of you, make you have his babies. Love you until there's nothing left.

but he couldn't.

“What would you do with better days?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Marcus’s gaze lifted, startled by the question. He leaned back in his chair, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the dim room.

“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. he did know. he'd spend them with you. oh, silly it all felt. “I stopped imagining them a long time ago.” You paused, your fingers stilling over a jar. “You must have thought about it. When you were younger, before…” You trailed off, uncertain how to finish the sentence. “Before the blood?” he supplied, his tone sharper than you expected. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose I did. Once.” still.

“And?”

He hesitated, the tension in his shoulders palpable. “And it doesn’t matter. The man I am now... he has no place in better days.” Something in your chest ached at his words, though you couldn’t say why. You wanted to reach for him, to close the distance between you and tell him he was wrong. But you didn’t. Instead, you lowered your gaze and returned to your work, your voice quiet. “That’s a pity.”

The days stretched into weeks, and though you tried to resist, the threads of your lives intertwined in ways you couldn’t untangle. Marcus became a constant presence, his visits no longer marked by the pretense of injuries. He came for you, though neither of you dared to speak it aloud.

Each touch, each glance, was a betrayal of the barriers you had built around yourself. Yet, you let him break them piece by piece, unable to deny the pull that drew you closer.

One night, as the apothecary lay bathed in moonlight, he found you humming an old melody—a song your father had sung on quiet nights. The tune was bittersweet, a memory wrapped in longing. Marcus lingered in the doorway, his shadow stretching across the room.

“I’ve heard that before,” he said softly.

You turned, startled. “My father used to sing it.” He nodded, stepping closer. “It suits you. Beautiful and haunting.” You didn’t respond, your gaze dropping to your hands. “I don’t sing much anymore.”

“You should.”

He was close now, close enough that you could see the faint scar that ran along his jaw, the one you’d traced with your eyes so many times but never dared to touch. “Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because it’s part of you,” he said simply. “And I want to know all of you.” His words left you breathless, the weight of them settling in your chest. You wanted to pull away, to guard the fragile thing that was growing between you, but you couldn’t.

But people talk.

They talk in whispers that snake through the palace walls, slithering through cracks and beneath doors. Whispers of his visits, of his presence in the apothecary, of the time he lingers where he should not. They do not speak to you directly, but you can feel their words coiling around your throat, tightening with every passing day.

You hear them behind you when you walk through the halls: the sharp staccato of hurried footsteps, the low murmur of voices that stop the moment you turn. You catch glimpses of knowing glances, the way the maids shift their eyes when you enter a room, how the guards avert their gazes.

They all know, and yet they know nothing.

Because what is there to know? You have not touched him beyond necessity, have not dared to let your hand linger when you tend his wounds. And yet, the air between you is thick, suffused with something that neither of you has the courage to name.

“You should not come here anymore,” It was late. The apothecary was empty, save for the two of you. You stood with your back to him, arranging jars on the shelves in some vain attempt to distract yourself from the weight of his presence.

“I will decide what I should or should not do,” Marcus replied, his voice steady. You turned to face him, exasperation rising in your chest. “They talk, Marcus. Do you not see the danger in that? For you— for me?” His expression changed fast. “I cannot stop them from speaking,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “And I will not stop coming.”

“Why?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Why do you care what happens to me? Why do you risk so much just to be here?”

He did not answer immediately. His gaze flicked over your face, searching for something, though you could not say what. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy. “Because you deserve better than this,” he said. “Better than what the court has given you. Just... better." You shook your head, chest tightening. “That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one I can give you,” he said, stepping closer. “For now." But deep down, you knew better.

And you hated him for it, too.

“I see the way you look at me,” he said one night, his voice breaking the silence. You froze, your hands stilling over the poultice you were preparing. “What?”

“Do not deny it,” Marcus said, his tone softer now. “I know that look. I have seen it on too many faces not to recognize it.” You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “And what look is that?”

“The one that says you hate me as much as you try to fight it." The words struck you like a blow, and you turned to face him, your cheeks burning. “I do not—”

“You do,” he said simply, cutting you off. “And I do not blame you for it.”

His gaze was steady, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might say more, but instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. “I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I hope for it, all the same.” You did not hate him. you wish you could, because falling in love wasn't what you wanted right now.

“I think about you,” Marcus admitted, his voice raw. “More than I should. More than is safe.” Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as his words sank in. “You shouldn’t,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction. “I know.”

The silence between you stretched.

“But why?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Why do you care now, after all this time? You never gave me an answer, Marcus..."

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Because I see you,” he said finally. “And I see myself in you—the parts of me I thought were dead. The parts I’ve tried to bury.” You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “I don’tㅡ Marcus, if this is all a game to you, of things you want to rediscover within you..."

"It is not. I do not intend to play with your heart."

So why does the blood keep on trickling?

They were wildflowers, clearly gathered from the edges of the palace gardens, and they looked out of place in his calloused hands. He held them out awkwardly, his expression somewhere between defiance and vulnerability, as though he expected you to scold him for the gesture. “For you,” he said simply. You stared at them for a moment, then at him. “Why?” you couldn’t help but smile. “Do I need a reason?” His tone was defensive, but the softness in his gaze betrayed him. No monster.

Your fingers brushed against his as you took the flowers, and he flinched almost imperceptibly, as if the touch burned him. “They’re beautiful,” you said. He didn’t reply, but you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch— an almost-smile, there and gone in an instant.

“Are you trying to court me, General?” you asked, half-joking. The question caught him off guard, and he looked at you with something close to panic in his eyes. “No.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Good. You’d be terrible at it.” But the truth was, you didn’t hate the thought.

He started threatening the others after that.

The first time, you hadn’t been there to see it, but you heard about it from one of the maids who whispered to you in passing. “The general,” she said, her eyes wide. “He nearly broke Marcellus’s arm. All because he said something about you.”

He didn’t deny it. “He should not have said what he did,” he said simply, his tone calm but firm. “What did he say?”

“It does not matter.”

“Marcus—”

“It does not matter,” he repeated, his voice sharper now. “What matters is that he will not say it again.”

You wanted to argue with him, to tell him he couldn’t go around threatening people in your name. But the truth was, a part of you was glad. A part of you wanted him to protect you. He didn’t just watch over you—he hovered, his presence a constant shadow that both comforted and unnerved you. When he wasn’t by your side, you found yourself looking for him, craving his presence like air. And when he was with you, you felt safer than you had since your father’s death.

Days passed, and though you told yourself you should push him away, you could not.

He was always there, like a storm on the horizon—inevitable, impossible to ignore. You felt his presence even when he was not near, his voice echoing in your mind, his touch lingering on your skin.

You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your heart leapt when you heard his footsteps, the way your breath hitched when his fingers brushed yours. You tried to convince yourself it meant nothing, that it was a passing infatuation born of grief and the fact that he so happened to be there. You tried to convince yourself that the soft yearning in your chest was fleeting. A passing fancy, born of loneliness and the way Marcus had carved out a space in your world so effortlessly.

But as the days turned to weeks, the intensity of your feelings betrayed you. Every glance he cast your way lingered. Every word he spoke seemed to reverberate in your mind long after it had been said.

And every time his hand brushed against yours—whether by accident or intent—it felt as if the earth shifted beneath your feet.

It was one of those moments now. The two of you stood side by side in the apothecary, the late afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows. He was reaching for a jar of herbs on the shelf above, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned closer.

Your breath hitched, and you stepped back quickly, your movements too sharp, too sudden. “Am I in your way?” Marcus asked, his voice low and amused. “No,” you said hastily, turning to busy yourself with a mortar and pestle. “Not at all.” He did not move, and you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and unwavering. “You always do that,” he said after a moment, his tone thoughtful.

“Do what?”

“Step away.” You forced yourself to meet his eyes. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” he said quietly. There was no accusation in his voice, only a gentle insistence. “You step away as if the space will make it easier. But it does not, does it?” Your fingers tightened around the pestle. “Marcus—”

“I feel it too,” he said, cutting you off. The words hung between you, raw and unvarnished. You stared at him, your heart pounding. “You should not say that.”

“Why not? Because it is the truth?” He stepped closer, his hand resting on the edge of the table. “Because I look at you and I can think of nothing else? Because when I leave here, all I want is to come back?”

“Marcus, stop.” Your voice was trembling now, a plea more than a command. “I cannot stop,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I do not think you can, either.” The room seemed to shrink around you, the air charged with something that felt too big for your soul to understand. “Tell me to leave,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “If this is too much, if I have crossed a line, say the word, and I will go.” You opened your mouth, the words on the tip of your tongue. But they would not come. Because no matter how much you told yourself this was dangerous, reckless, wrong. you did not want him to go.

You did not step back this time. “I cannot,” you whispered, the words breaking free like a confession. His breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he reached for you, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “I do not know how to do this,” you said, your voice trembling. “I do not know what happens now.”

what is this pandora box you have opened?

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was raw and consuming, as though he’d been holding back a storm and now it was unleashed. His hands slid to frame your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as his lips claimed yours. There was no hesitation, no room for doubt. And, oh, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Your hands found his tunic, clutching the fabric as though it were the only thing keeping you grounded. His scent filling your lungs, his warmth, the feel of him, it was too much and not enough all at once.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t…”

“You did,” you whispered, your own voice shaky. “And I didn’t stop you.” His lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile, but his eyes remained serious. “Say the word, and I’ll walk away. I swear it.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling over you. But then you shook your head, your hand lifting to brush against his cheek. “I wil not say it.” His eyes closed briefly, as though your words had physically hit him. When he opened them again, they were softer, full of something you couldn’t name but felt in every corner of your soul.

“Then I am yours,” he murmured. “For as long as you’ll have me.” You leaned up, your lips brushing against his once more. A promise, a surrender, a beginning.

[diorcities]

⠀   ── ★ ˚˳ ⊹ ✉️ ⁺ things you leave at their place.

someone on x mentioned about jaemin being obsessed with miffy all of a sudden and now i have to write about it cause we both think it's not his but his gf's 😭 library

next: things they leave at your place.

jaemin: stuffed animals. you were a little embarrassed to admit that you couldn't sleep comfortably because of that, but jaemin knew you; he'd visited your apartment before, of course, he's familiar with your habit; he knows what's your favorite of them all. it sleeps between you two, but sometimes you forget it at your place, so little by little his bed began to fill up with stuffed animals that he complacently buys for you, that somehow gives him company when you're away from him.

haechan: dried flowers. he's partially the reason why all the books that are not his in his apartment have petals pressed between the pages. of course, you like flowers, but what you like most is to preserve them 'cause they mean that much to you. he likes to borrow some of your books from your place, but sometimes you forget half of them have flowers still in there so every time he tries to read he finds them between the pages.

jeno: plants. his apartment slowly transform into your mini flower sanctuary because —silly you, you keep buying plants even when you don't have room for one more. you often bring them to his place claiming they need a new home; jeno's apartment apparently has greater sunlight than yours, but why does jeno feel warmer when he visits you? because it feels familiar? maybe it's because he likes you a little. or just like your flowers, he likes you a lot.

chenle: things to knit. every time his friends go to his apartment he must make up the story that he's started knitting thanks to you and your habit of leaving your knitting things in his place. telling the truth would be easier if it weren't for the fact that chenle doesn't even know what to say because, of course, friends sometimes forget things in each other's apartment all the time, but your things always tend to be forgotten in his room.

mark: perfumes. he's a sucker. he spends his time trying to smell more when the scent of your perfume dances in the air or stays impregnated on his clothes when you greet him. so much so that when you forget them on his place, he perfumes the corners of his apartment, as if he could invoke you with it. thinking that if he puts perfume on the pillows, maybe you are the one who leaves your scent when you stay overnight.

jisung: lipstick. your favorite lipsticks had started to become scarce until you discovered that they weren't lost but somehow found again at jisung's place. once you found one in the bathroom, you thought you had forgotten it when you ended up in his apartment after an outing with friends, but then, then he lent you his jacket and there was another one there. and when he kissed you, and kissed you, and kissed you, and you woke up the next day in his room, you weren't so surprised anymore that there was one right next to his bed, on the bedside table.

renjun: shoes. it's not so rare. you arrive at your mutual friends' room, take off your shoes and after laughing and drinking, you end up with someone else's because you can't find yours. and then, later, after months, it starts to be a habit. you both have the same style, although he must admit that he likes yours better. and you probably think he's clueless for taking yours, when in reality he's always waiting for you to pick them up at his apartment.

[aliceoseman]

s3 dealt with some more mature themes than s1&2 did, did you struggle with that in any way or did it feel like a natural development for the characters? especially since heartstopper has been praised specifically for being a "wholesome" show basically from the start, did you find it in any way daunting to write (more) sex and alcohol into the show?

(Upon reading this back, I have only talked about sex, not alcohol, very sorry!! Also this gets really off topic but this was the only question I received about sex in the show and I have a lot to say that I just didn't get asked about at all in any promo interviews, so... Here I shall word vomit!!)

Short answer: Yes, I struggled, but not with the writing of the story - just with the general discourse about sex/no sex in Heartstopper, since the beginning of the show.

Long answer:

It wasn't something I struggled with when writing the comic. I always knew that Heartstopper would get to that point - that it would grow up alongside the characters - but the general cultural view of the show as 'wholesome' vs. the criticism of it for being 'puritanical' and 'sexless' has definitely made me feel quite anxious about how these maturer elements would be interpreted by people in the show.

I never saw Heartstopper as 'wholesome' when I started creating the comic. The first chapter of the comic leads to a scene featuring assault, and the story deals heavily with mental health and bullying. The comic has swearing throughout. Whether the story was 'wholesome' was simply not a topic of discourse before the TV show released - I knew it was uplifting and optimistic, of course, but only in the same way that most YA romance stories are. So the public declaration of the Heartstopper show as 'wholesome' - as its defining characteristic and unique selling point - did take me by surprise. I'd had to remove the swearing from the story, but aside from that, I couldn't really understand what was different with the show compared to the comic, and why this was its defining feature. And then of course some of the conversation shifted to the fact that in S1 and S2, there's no sex.

This too confused me. I always felt the sexual attraction between N&C was obvious from the start, and sex itself was introduced into the story at the time I felt was right for the characters, with no real thought as to whether the audience would agree with me. People hardly ever pointed out the lack of sex in the comic - it's very, very normal for YA fiction romances to not feature sex, and in fact, it's actually pretty common for teen movies and shows to not feature sex, certainly when they skew towards younger teens as Heartstopper did in S1 and S2. But for some reason, when the Heartstopper show came around, people really, really noticed the lack of sex, and I was very surprised by that reaction. I wonder if it was because people weren't accustomed to that in queer TV, or if it was because people liked N&C so much as a couple and desperately wanted to see them take that step, or just because people felt it was broadly unrealistic for a teen couple to wait a little while before feeling ready to have sex. Perhaps it was all. But whatever it was, it caused some... outcry!

(I could go into arguments as to whether it is morally correct or generally realistic for N&C to wait before having sex in the story, but ultimately I think people's opinion on that varies heavily depending on their worldview and personal experience, and there's no right answer - people can like it or not like it and that's completely fine, not every tv show is for everyone - but the one thing I would say is that I think it shows young readers/viewers that it's OKAY to not be ready, and how to have that conversation with your partner, and I think that's a really, really good and helpful thing for young people)

Fortunately for those who were distressed by the lack of sex in the show, and for me who was anxious about all of that criticism, I'd been planning for the story to reach that stage pretty soon anyway. It honestly made me relieved that it was going to be introduced, if only to reassure people that I wasn't pretending sex doesn't exist or that I, as an asexual, was spreading some sort of anti-sex agenda (seemed to be a common refrain among those who find it particularly annoying that I'm ace). But mainly - I'd always known this would be a really important step in N&C's journey, and I wanted to do it justice, and I felt I had done so in the comic, but with the TV show came all of those opinions and discourse, so I was much more nervous about it and spent a lot of time during the writing process trying to figure out how people would feel about it. An impossible task, and before S3 released, I had no idea what the reaction would be.

In the end it was pretty anti-climactic - it got hyped up a bit too much in the early promo for S3, and then the general consensus was that the sex in the show was shown with a very light touch, and some people thought that was a good thing and others did not. And people still call the show sexless and puritanical, so it didn't really solve that issue. (I'm just not sure what those people really expected to happen - obviously they are not going to suddenly start fucking on screen in a show that's been previously marketed for the 12-16 age bracket, guys, let's use our brains here) Personally, I'm really proud of how that element of the story turned out. I think the scenes are really beautiful and feel totally right for the tone of the story, and have let the show mature without suddenly becoming an entirely different show.

This has been a long answer but I think what I'm trying to say is this: the 'mature' vs 'wholesome' scale of Heartstopper is something that has never been a topic of discourse for the comic. But it has been front and centre for the show, and certainly is something that has caught me off guard and caused me some anxiety, because I do see the criticism and it does hurt, and at times feels incredibly personal. But at the end of the day, I'm just telling a story, and the things that happen will happen at the time I feel is right for the characters. I just want to tell the story that I've set out to tell, and I intend to keep doing so until it is done.

If we get a S4, and indeed now that I am working on Vol 6, I am thinking much less about how the audience might react to the sex in the story, and am simply just writing/drawing what feels emotionally and dramatically right for the story and characters. And that feels much more creatively freeing!

[heart-eyed-love]

Charms

Summary | Eddie has a small gift for you before you both leave for Christmas break

Contains | Fem!Reader, Friends-to-Lovers, Cursing

Word Count | 1.2k

An | Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates, this is coming out late :( but I hope everyone had a good day!

It was the last day before Christmas break, and you were more than relieved to say the least. You need a 2 week break away from this shit hole. And while you had your friends, you still needed a break from this place.

You were gonna go visit some of your family members during the break, not the plans you had originally hoped for, but in your opinion just about anything was better than this school.

You had slightly brought up to your friends in passing that you were gonna be out of town during break, but it wasn’t something you had necessarily thought they’d care to remember. And it wasn’t something you’d be offended about them forgetting either way, you knew something you tend to fade to the background of settings.

So that afternoon, as you shoved all the books and papers you’d no longer need in your backpack over this break back into your locker, you let yourself sigh in relief as you now held a significantly lighter backpack.

“Hey…” The voice sneaks up behind you, causing you to jump. And when you turn to look at the source and smirking Eddie comes into view.

“Hi?” You answer back, raised brows at the boy in front of you, “What’s up?” You ask, shutting your locker as you do, and he can’t help but take notice of the jangling of your charm bracelet he knows all too well.

“Oh you know, nothing much. Excited to get out of here?”

“Yeah, I mean, who isn’t? It’s school… so I’m pretty sure everyone is eager to get out of here… aren’t you?” You ask back, looking up at the boy in front of you. Even after hanging out with him and the hellfire, you still feel a little awkward around him.

“Oh yeah totally, I’m gonna spend my whole break probably getting high, and doing jack shit, you know, basically the whole point of the break for me, right?” He’s all smirky and it’s so distracting when he gets like this… well when he gets like this with you. You never completely got used to the times where you’re the center of his attention.

“Yeah, right… Sounds nice…” You nod softly as you throw your backpack over your shoulder.

“It will be… if you weren’t going out of town I’d invite you over…” He’s hasn’t necessarily gone shy but he’s not as confident as he normally is and it’s throwing you off a bit. And If what he says is true, and he’d really like to invite you over, you’d take that over this trip to see a few family members who don’t necessarily give too much of a shit about you. But no. Now you have to miss out on the one thing you’ve always wanted.

“That sounds a lot better than having to go hang out with a bunch of family members who don’t even know who I am…” You chuckle slightly to yourself, and he smiles sweetly back at you and you can’t help yourself from feeling distracted from the look on his face.

“Yeah? Well that’s kinda why I came over here…” He pulls his back from his shoulder and unzips it, digging through it for a second, before pulling out a poorly wrapped box. A small bow sitting on top of it. Your brows raise in question, “Uhm… I got you something… you know, for Christmas.” He smiles.

“Oh shit, really? I- I didn’t get you anything….” You feel bad immediately, you had no idea he was gonna get you a gift, if you had you wouldn’t allow yourself to go all out for him like you always truly wanted.

“Oh no! No, don’t worry about it… it’s more like just so you don’t forget about us while you’re gone…”

“Forget about you?”

“Yeah, you know… Hellfire… me.” He smirks. To be quite frank he didn’t give a shit about Hellfire in this stance, forget about them all you want just don’t go forgetting about him.

“I’m only gonna be gone for like 2 weeks, if that.” You say with a teasing laugh, that has the soft smile reappearing on his face, and you don’t notice it, but his face heats up.

“Yeah, well here anyways…” He hands the box with a shrug.

You grab the box from him with a smile, “Do you want me to open it now?”

“Yeah, go for it…”

You pull the nicely tied bow from the top, leaving only the terribly wrapped box, and you couldn’t help but feel a swarm of butterflies. It was cute. He was cute. “Sorry, apparently I’m shit at wrapping.” He chuckled lightly.

“It’s alright.” You smile up at him, before looking back down to ripping the paper off the gift and a small box is now in front of you, Eddie grabs the wrapping paper from your hands for you, shoving it into his backpack.

You open the box and a small charm is revealed to you, it’s a small black bat. It’s beautiful, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a charm. It reminds you more of Eddie than the rest of the boys and you can’t help but like it more for that fact.

Eddie inspects your face as you look at the charm. He saw it at the mall while he was trying to find something for Wayne and for some reason he just needed to get it for. But damn, for some reason this small piece of metal was more expensive than he thought it needed to be.

But whatever it was for you anyways.

“You like it?” He asks, slightly nervous at the lack of words coming from you.

You look up from the charm in the box and see that smidge of fear in his face, “What? Oh my gosh! Yes, of course!” And the smile you love so much graces his face, “I love it, thank you, Eddie.”

“I’m glad you like it… thought it would go nice with all the other ones you have…” He lets his fiddle with the charm bracelet on your wrist, and you blush a tad bit at the feeling of his fingers against it.

“I really do…” You watch as the hallways drain of students and you know your time with him is limited, your bus is gonna leave soon, “My bus is about to leave… but thank you again, Eddie. It means a lot…”

“Yeah, of course… Uh, I mean I could drive you home if you want? Are you leaving today?”

“Oh, uh… No, we’re leaving tomorrow. Like ass crack of dawn.” You roll your eyes.

“Damn, first day of break and you’re still having to walk up early?” He laughs, and you can’t help but smile at the sounds.

“Right? That’s what I said, she just told me to get over it so it looks like I’m waking up early… but uh, yeah… a ride would be really nice…” I nod with a shy smile.

“Sweet, follow me…” He leads you out to his van, one you’ve seen time and time before but only ever rarely been in it. Definitely never just the two of you. He opened the van door for you and everything.

You were definitely gonna come back from break with a gift of your own for him.

[heyftinally]

I specifically want to elaborate on this part:

Decontextualizing and rephrasing an interview: I am not going to pretend that I am an expert in academic best practices, but I do believe one thing, if a person is speaking on their own identity and lived experience, it is always much better to directly quote than it is to rephrase. As I read this source, I initially didn't know that it was AI, and I was already upset. An interview that is widely available on the internet with no pay wall, was poorly sourced and made more vague than it was in the initial text. By creating one degree of seperation between the original words of A WRITER (whose literal job was largely based in choosing the right words to describe experiences they had) harm is already done. It makes vague what was once clear, and removes Keri Hulme's voice from her own narrative.

As someone who has spent a LOT of time and effort on the nitty-gritty of quoting others in professional documents, I feel like I have a pretty good foundation on which to speak about this.

As a general rule, you want to directly quote the speaker as much as possible.

First and foremost, this is because you don't want to put words in their mouth or misrepresent what they said, as that's dishonest on your part as the interviewer/writer/etc, and harms your credibility. Remember the "Coolsville sucks" meme? Yeah, don't be that person. Quotes should be full and verbatim as much as possible, because anything else presents the possibility that you aren't accurately or fully representing what the speaker said.

The second reason is because when you re-word someone else's quote, you inherently inject your own biases into the new version you create. What that means is, consciously or unconsciously, you are influencing the way readers perceive what was said. This is bad because at best, you're speaking over the person who's quote you re-worded. At worst, you're manipulating your readers to think as you do, regardless of what the original quote said.

When presenting a quote from someone else, your job is to communicate as clearly as possible the speaker's original statement and intention. If giving the direct quote is not possible, careful paraphrasing is vital.

If I say "Sara James then went on to express her dissatisfaction with the pay she received", what would you assume the original quote is?

It could be "Yeah, I found out I was only getting paid ⅓ as much as my costar, even though I have 40% more screen time and I did almost all of my own stunts, so needless to say I'm not happy and I've been talking to my team."

But it could ALSO be "I was surprised when I found out what we were all getting paid. Not to sound like a total nepo baby or anything, but normally the projects I do pay more, y'know? But then I found out that the reason pay was lower for everyone - not just me - was because production was donating a whole bunch of money to the local children's hospital since we filmed in the lot next door. Which I thought was really cool of them! Like, obviously the hospital doesn't get much say in the filming, so I thought it was really cool of production to give back as, like, a thank you. Plus we got to go visit the kids, which was just amazing!"

TECHNICALLY in both of these, you could argue that displeasure about pay IS mentioned - but the specifics of the situation are entirely lost in the oversimplified paraphrasing, and THAT is why changing direct quotes can be dangerous.

So, yeah. I just wanted to elaborate on that particular point because it's one I covered *heavily* while in college. How you quote someone is important.

":')))))))) you realise that gen AI is available to everyone though right??? Queer creators can use it just as much as anyone else??? I just don't understand this post... It really feels like a cheap way to get on the 'AI Bad's bandwagon, and coming from such a thoughtful and insightful creator that's incredibly disappointing... It's okay to not comment on subjects you're not an expert in y'know...?"

Y'all know the drill, I am replying to this publicly but that is not an invitation to send any negative messages to the person I am replying to.

Anyways, let me start by saying that the original context of the post you're replying to is discussing an event where a queer org used generative AI to steal an interview with Keri Hulme. So let's start there. To be clear I don't even know if the original interviewer was queer so let's put the identities of stealer and stolen from to the side. I want to explain the harm done in this example specifically and I hope this is illustrative of what harm generative AI can (and does) do.

The original place I saw generative AI was a queer org that explicitly says they are using generative AI "for good", and as a way to bring more queer history to light. So let's take them at their word, and assume they are not out to cause harm. This is the best example of generative AI that I can imagine, so I hope that makes it clear that I am not coming at this issue from bad faith in any way.

Here is the harm they are causing:

Decontextualizing and rephrasing an interview: I am not going to pretend that I am an expert in academic best practices, but I do believe one thing, if a person is speaking on their own identity and lived experience, it is always much better to directly quote than it is to rephrase. As I read this source, I initially didn't know that it was AI, and I was already upset. An interview that is widely available on the internet with no pay wall, was poorly sourced and made more vague than it was in the initial text. By creating one degree of seperation between the original words of A WRITER (whose literal job was largely based in choosing the right words to describe experiences they had) harm is already done. It makes vague what was once clear, and removes Keri Hulme's voice from her own narrative.

The original interviewer is not paid, or given proper recognition: I get it, sometimes just copy pasting an interview doesn't feel transformative enough, but something that one would learn if they worked in the queer history field and weren't a literal robot rehashing what has already been said, is that not everything needs to be transformed. In those cases, we give credit to the person who said the original words (in this case Keri Hulme), and the interviewer who facillitated the conversation (in this case Shelley Bridgeman). This case (again a best case scenario), takes the attention and byline away from the original interviewer and gives it to an AI.

The original publisher of this story is deinsentivised from paying interviewers in the future: The original publisher of this interview has ads on their website. As a person who also has ads on their website, taking an article like this and rephrasing it for no good reason (the orginal word count was not prohibitive and the rephrasing did not make it more readable), takes money from the publisher. It's pennies, but it's also removing numbers could have been used to justify further interviews with asexual people and archiving of asexual stories. The org that stole from this publication does not interview people themselves so the money and numbers that could have gone to continue to preserve asexual stories goes to stealing them instead.

These are just the active harms that I saw in this specific case. As you said, I am not an expert in generative AI, and will not be speaking as if I am. But I will say that asking me not to speak out on active harm that is being caused in queer history spaces, is disrespectful to my many years in this field.

To illustrate this even clearer: if you were a patron, you would know I recently took down an old article. I have been rereading and editing our backlist of articles, and I found one that no longer fit my standards of sourcing. My standards had recently raised due to a video made by HBomberguy about someone in the queer history space who was stealing from other creators. I watched this video not as a work project, but because I watch most of HBomberguys videos, and this one made me think more critically about sourcing. An AI can't do that. All an AI has is what has been inputted, and it is right now impossible to input every available peice of information about ethics into an AI and get a coherent ethical basis on which it will function.

It is a distinctly human trait to absorb information and change in that way. AI can rephrase information that already exists, steal it, recontextualize it even, but it cannot create something altogether new.

Do I believe that there one day might be an ethical use for Generative AI? Maybe. Do I believe that coming into a queer history space, stealing the words of a Maori asexual author, rephrasing them, and giving the original interviewer and publication no form of compensation for their work, is accomplishing that? No.

On a more personal note: I am coming at this issue with a bias. As a queer history creator, I do not want AI in my space, because it is literally damaging to my financial prospects. It has been like pulling teeth to try and get patrons in the current state of the global economy. I don't blame anyone from that, but I feel very disrespected that I am being asked to compete with a machine now. Not only that, but I am being asked to shut up and be fine with it? No, absolutely not. I cannot and will not stay quiet as space that I have fought tooth and nail to create in mainstream discussions is taken and given to AI.

AI was not supporting me when I was sent gore to try and scare me off of discussing queer history. A person did that. AI was not there to tell me I had written too many sad stories, and I needed some happy endings to remind myself of the good in the world. A person did that. AI was not there when I was being harrassed for supporting and including asexual stories on my website. A person did that.

And after all that, I am being asked to lie down and take it when my ability to pay the people who supported me in those ways, is being threatened. Nope. Not going to happen.

An AI doesn't have to make rent. An AI doesn't understand what it feels like to have to stop holding their wife's hand in public. An AI didn't get calls from people needing comfort in reaction to the election. Pay me for my work, and get this AI nonsense out of my face.

[suguruspit]

Lockjaw

warnings: oral sex (f!receiving), come eating, Gojo is a certified munch, situationship, exhibitionism, masturbation (reader), semi-public sex, car sex, f!ngering, squirting, overstim, dancing around feelings, panties fetish (?), eating out with panties on

A/N: Gojo Satoru being a complete nasty freak and munch is something that is very special to me. He definitely uses those six eyes for inappropriate things don't even JOKE (this was a request :P)

It was a random hook-up that started his slight obsession. On and off for years, and this particular part of his kinky nature never came to light.

"I'm serious, Gojo." You snort, the tip of your finger swirling around the rim of your glass as you rest your chin in your hand. "I'm not the type of girl to lose my panties to the first guy who makes a pass at me."

Gojo studies you, eyes hidden under that thick black fabric as he hums, stretching his legs out as he stands up from his bar stool, holding out a hand to you as you raise an eyebrow in response.

"I'll take you home." A simple sentence, one that he says with such ease that you don't think anything of it, despite him practically begging to let him get you off in bathroom.

It's not like the two of you haven't shared a bed before, admittedly you'd been thinking about texting him a simple 'you free?' earlier before he'd walked straight into the bar you were in- but, he's just your coworker now.

Walking into that damn school and immediately thinking about The Gojo Satoru on his knees with his mouth buried in your pussy had made working with him a complete nightmare. There's only so many times you can excuse yourself to the bathroom to bury your fingers in yourself for some kind of relief. Thus; the ban.

"I don't know.." You eventually reply, your voice full of uncertainty despite the fact that your body is already up and moving off the stool, and you smile to yourself as Gojo wraps his jacket around your shoulders, leaving him in that ridiculously tight white shirt. "I guess you're a safer option than a random man."

"Gee, thanks." Gojo snorts, offering you his elbow with an exaggerated bow, making you laugh as you stumble slightly on your way back to the car.

It's cold out, which is part of the reason why you'd gone straight to the bar after your bad mission instead of just walking it off. Plus, there's nothing a little wine can't fix after Shoko has actually fixed you.

You shiver a little as you pull Gojos' jacket a little tighter around yourself. The cold air is making the wetness of your panties a lot more obvious, and your cheeks burn with both shame and alcohol as you walk unsteadily back to that fancy ass car you knew Gojo would have driven all the way here.

"You know," Gojo says with a joy in his voice that makes you wince. It's never a good sign when he's confident, even less when he's full on grinning like a shark down at you. "I know you've made yourself all messy just thinking about my offer."

Fuck. This was a trap.

"You've been avoiding my calls," Gojo continues, sniffing as he opens the back door to his car, patiently waiting for you to slide yourself onto the seats, which you do albeit a little hesitantly.

The cold leather against your wet panties has you biting your lip and Gojo just grins at you, leaning on the car door all cocky with his frustrating smirk as he asks you; "You sure I can't convince you?"

Your hand clutches your skirt a little too tightly, the black Jujutsu uniform that was built to be lightweight suddenly feeling suffocating.

"I meant it-" You start, as you look back at him with fluttering eyelashes and a semi-serious expression. You pout your lips purposefully as you spread your legs the tiniest amount, anticipation shooting through your spine as you notice him start to breathe harder. "My panties, staying on."

An odd hill for you to die on, but apparently it wasn't a hill that would stop Gojo as he's clambering into the back of the car and folding his long legs with a heavy 'fuck'.

You let out a moan as you look down in front of you, Gojo is balancing himself in-between the sets of seats so that he can be eye-level with your cunt, bandana pushed up into that messy white hair as his eyes practically glow in the dark car. It's electric the way he looks at you, and you bite your hand as he lowers his nose, breathing in the scent of your arousal with a low groan.

"Not a problem, princess."

"You're such a freak," You breathe out, but you aren't really one to talk as you feel yourself getting even wetter as he nips and bites at your plush thighs. You rest your head on the headrest as you shuffle your hips down, letting out a little sob as Gojos' tongue finally drags its way up your wet underwear.

It's perverted, the way that it gets you wriggling and writhing. That wet cotton sticks to you as he starts swirling his tongue on your clit, the texture of the fabric dragging against you with each movement making the pleasure all that more unbelievable.

It's wet, spit and slick noises filling the car as he groans and whines into your pussy, thanking you over and over as he palms himself, never faltering in his open-mouthed kisses to your pretty pink lacy panties, suckling gently over the slightly raised mound of your clit after at least ten minutes of teasing.

"Fuck, I-" You breathe out, the air so thick that your chest is heaving. Your thighs are aching from the way he's using both strong hands to hold them open, your hands buried in those snowy locks as you force his mouth to where you want it, practically riding his face in the back of his fancy-ass car. "Holy shit, I'm going to cum."

Gojo just nods desperately through your struggling words, jaw and tongue moving even faster as he whines with flushed cheeks and spit-shiny lips into you, his hand leaving one of your thighs to rub himself off, and that sight is what gets you shaking.

"Fuck, Gojo." You whine as you reach your peak, hips stuttering and fingers tightening in his hair. The sight of him sobbing into your pussy as his chest tinges pink and the front of his pants get darker has you staggering through a second wave, your orgasm dripping through your panties sluggishly and covering the back seat of the car. "Holy shit."

Gojo pulls back, absolutely wrecked. His face is adorably pink, eyes half-lidded as he looks at you with a satisfaction that has your heart stuttering. There's your slickness spread across his lips and chin, and he gathers it with his thumb just to push it past his own lips with a cocky grin, all teeth and charm as you curse.

"Still going to ignore me?"

And ignore him you did, or you tried.

But the stuffy conference room is getting unbearably warm as you shift in your seat, willing your throbbing cunt to stop as you avoid Gojos' gaze across the table.

He's sitting in that ridiculous way he does, ass half in his seat as he sits like its his own personal throne, long legs hanging over the edge of it as he makes a show of dragging his tongue up and down the popsicle he'd opted to eat in the middle of the meeting, much to your own dismay.

The incredibly boring old bastards just sneer at him with disgust as he joyfully sucks on his fingers, swirling his tongue to collect all that sticky juice that had dribbled past his lips and onto those long digits.

It's like your own personal torture, and you bite your lip and send a quick prayer that the ancient elders are too busy scolding your coworker to notice the way your own hand is buried in between your thighs, your skirt just long enough to cover the way your fingers are driving themselves in and out of your pussy.

As an elder starts talking about the newest development in the Zen'in council, you take the time to wiggle out of your panties, leaving them hanging around your ankle riskily.

Your cheeks burn and your heart is hammering as you glance around the table, eyes shifting between your unknowing audience as you force yourself to be quiet.

That pressure is building up your spine, your thighs aching as you shift in your seat, stammering out a quick reply as the man closest to your right asks if you need a break.

"She's alright," Gojo waves his hand as he replies, although you notice his ears are pink and there's a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Fed up of you old bastards, I'm sure."

You shake your head in disagreement, and your fingers are buried knuckle deep in your pussy as you stop for a breath, terrified to move in fear of being caught. There's juices leaking around your fingers, the chair slippery as your folds slide against the chair as you wiggle yourself, full of impatience despite your mental battle.

There's a buzz of your phone, and you bite your lip, glancing around you before deeming it safe enough to check. Your breath leaves you in a half-disguised moan that goes unnoticed around the table as you read it.

Gojo: don't stop now, I know ur close

You could almost cry as you lock eyes with him, and he just winks before divulging into another complaint about an improperly labelled curse. It all turns into background noise as you continue to bully your own cunt, wet walls hugging your fingers tightly as you get closer and closer.

Burying your chin into your chest as you start to reach your peak, tears burn in your eyes as you feel that familiar wet heat stirring in your gut. Fuck, not now.

You panic and make frantic eye contact with your friend across the table, but it's too late as you stutter and your fingers curl just right. Gojo's eyes widen slightly, and he's coughing just loud enough to cover the wet sound of your release flooding the chair.

Thankfully, the elders are already taking their leave, the nicest of them all wishing you better health as he leaves with a polite bow, and you just stammer out a weak 'thank you'.

The silence of the room is embarrassingly loud as you're left to shimmer your panties back on properly, the fabric wet with your own squirt as you wince at the wet-on-wet sensation, too caught up in your own head to notice the way Gojo has stalked his way over.

"What are you-" You try to complain, but it's stolen from you as he shoves your chair away from the table, already sinking to his knees in front of you, groaning at the way your juices spill onto his pants. "Gojo, please."

"Yeah," He replies hoarsely, already pushing his bandana up to keep his hair out of the way as he buries his face where you begged for it, his nose rubbing against your clit as you sob and writhe. "Fuck. You're too much, baby."

"Not your baby," You whine out as his tongue pushes against your clothed folds, making it even more wet and lewd than it already is.

You outright moan as his fingers peel the wet fabric to the side, one of those long digits sliding all the way into your cunt, curling up and finding that spongy spot immediately, already working on milking a second orgasm out of you.

It's embarrassing how fast that high is creeping up your spine, the way your clit pulses and the way your walls tighten as Gojo sets to work, that overly obnoxious mouth for once silent as its full of you.

The sounds of Gojos' sloppy make-out session with your pussy filling the silent room, and you bite your hand to stop yourself from crying out as your toes curl in anticipation.

It's always so intense with Gojo, those damn Six Eyes knowing every inch of your body biblically and hitting those pleasure points ruthlessly - all you can do is hang on as best you can. And that's what you do, shaking fingers weaving into his hair as you pull and twist and whine as he alternates between delicate circles and hard swipes with his tongue.

The sloppy and wet sounds of your pussy pull you out of that foggy haze, your folds slick and shining from where they're parted with Gojos' nose, his blue eyes focused on you as he pumps his fingers in and out to the rhythm of his tongue. You babble something incoherent as your orgasm builds, your back tensing as you feel that unmistakable wave.

Gojo just curls his fingers once more and holds the pressure, his other hand pressing down on your lower belly, making you practically shout as you gush down his forearm, the force of it almost making you black out as it lasts forever.

And he sweet talks you the whole time.

"So fucking good princess, fuck, look gorgeous-shit" He groans, eyes rolling back as he fucks his own fist, panting and looking up at you with pleading eyes and flushed cheeks. "Let me finish on you, please."

You whimper out a 'yeah, do it baby' and that's all it takes for that milky-white sticky cum to paint your stomach, some of it hitting your chin as you moan, taking in the way his eyes screw shut and his jaw locks as he strokes himself through it.

Gojo whispers out a hoarse 'thanks' before his forehead rests against your thighs, he kisses and bites them gently as he regains his breath, and you soothe the pulled locks of hair with your fingertips.

If only you weren't planning on calling in sick to completely avoid him tomorrow.

That plan only worked for so long, there's only so many times you can ask to trade missions before people start to get curious, especially Nanami.

"You won't work with him, and that's not what's best efficient for the entire team."

You groan as you walk, dragging your feet and hanging your head as you follow him to the hall. He's not wrong, but how do you tell your perfectly respectable friend that the reason you can't work with him is because you act like a bitch in heat whenever you see his stupid fucking face?

"Perhaps," Nanami hesitates as he speaks, that normally monotone voice breaking unevenly. You look up at him curiously, only to find him watching you kindly already. "You could try to transfer?"

To Kyoto? Yeah. No thanks. You scoff to yourself, hoping he doesn't pick up on it. If he does, he's too gentlemanly to say anything, unlike a certain somebody.

"It's alright, I'll talk to him tonight after some liquid courage." You affirm, hoping you sound a lot more confident than you feel as you reach out for the door with a shaking hand.

Tonight being the staff party that Gojo and Shoko insisted on. You'd be lying if you weren't a little bit hopeful, your best baby-blue lacy set sitting neatly underneath a low-cut black cocktail dress. Normally, you'd say this is how you always dressed for a party. And normally, Nanami would pretend you were telling the truth.

"You're too good for him." Nanami simply says as you both step in, already cringing at the volume level. Both Tokyo and Kyoto teachers had come together, meaning the more rowdy bunch from Kyoto were already leading the party. "If you need me, text. Try not to, though."

And with that, you're alone.

You hum to the music, swaying a little bit as you make your way to the drinks table without looking like it was your one and only goal. You probably fail, but Shoko is there to hand you a red plastic cup and grin at you as you sigh in relief at the strong smell emanating from it.

"He's gone to get ice." She simply says, rolling her eyes at your fake attempt to seem uninterested. "In fact, he's been a while. Check that he hasn't warped himself into a coma, will you?"

You startle a bit at that, cradling your cup to your chest as you read her face for any tells that she's lying.

"He's done that?" You ask doubtfully, but you've already set your cup down in preparation for the hunt down.

"Not since we were kids." Shoko shrugs, and then she's shooing you off.

It doesn't take long, there's only so many freezers in the building, and there was no way he as hiding in the main kitchen. No, he's in the stupid dorm kitchen that you all used to share as kids.

"You get lost?" He calls out to you as you curse at the cold air, hands rubbing your arms as you step through the doorway with an unimpressed pout. "Ice machine is taking a while, tell Shoko to cool her tits."

"Incredible," You mutter as you take in his outfit. Tight black pants paired with a cream sweater that's practically hanging off his sharp collarbones, his hair down for once. He also has those sunglasses on that you find hot, despite being nothing particularly special. "You're almost thirty, stop talking like a frat boy."

He pouts at that, faking a tear-wipe with his finger as he hangs his head. You resist a smile as you watch him, instead choosing to hop up onto the counter with practised ease from your youth.

"Can't you like, infinity it faster?" You ask, just to wind him up. All these years, an on and off relationship, and you still pretend to not understand his technique because you know that really gets under his skin.

"You suck." Gojo says as he sticks his tongue out, but you see the way his eyes undress you, the way he lingers his gaze on your thighs. You sigh, and shimmy your hips down.

"I'd offer to get undressed, but something tells me you'd prefer me to keep the panties on."

That has him freezing from his current path towards that sweet spot between your thighs, looking up at you like a deer caught in headlights. You just hum, spreading your thighs.

"Well go on then," You say nonchalantly, letting your thighs fall even more open, exposing the flimsy black lace that covers your pretty pussy, the sheen of arousal already evident. "You have five minutes before Shoko and Nanami come looking for me."

Gojo lets out a cocky laugh, pulling his sweater off as he rolls his neck. Those ridiculous abs already pulled tight as he crouches, looking up at you under those stupid sunglasses that you love so much;

"Plenty of time."

You just laugh through your own moans as he gets to work.

Gojo never thought he'd get the chance to taste you so freely, after you broke things off the last time he thought that might have been it. But he's Satoru Gojo, he wouldn't be himself if he didn't push his luck, especially with you.

The first time he eats you out with your panties still on, it's an accident. One of the last times you'd been together, you were wearing this honey gold set that had drove him crazy, his spit and your slick mixing so deliciously over that fucking lace that it unlocked something in him.

Then, you'd decided that what you both had wasn't working, and all he was left with was that pair of honey gold lace panties to work over his dick desperately as he chased that memory of the way you came with your panties half-stuffed inside you from his tongue.

When he'd gotten the chance to eat you out after that visit from the bar, he'd been so excited to get his tongue on you, on that rough lace, that as soon as you'd finished all over his tongue, that honey-sweet thick taste that drove him crazy, he'd cum in his pants like a horny teenager.

The second time he was more prepared, as soon as he'd noticed your beautiful flushed cheeks as you wiggled across the table from him, he'd used his Six Eyes to watch your every move, getting harder and harder as you got yourself off in a room full of unsuspecting old geezers. It took everything in him not to bust as you fucking squirted, his cough managing to cover that lewd sound that drove him crazy. As you got yourself through that haze, he'd told them all to get fucked and that he'd talk with them one-by-one at a later date.

Getting on his knees and holding your knees up as he cleaned you up through your dripping wet finish was the next best thing to being in you. And your reaction when he'd added a single finger? Fuck.

The staff party was his final straw, eating you out and holding your hips as you rode his face in your old dorms, even though you knew his perverted little secret. He knew he had to patch things up with you.

Currently, he's up to the hilt in you, rubbing soothing circles into the plush flesh of your thigh as you breathe through the sudden fullness of him. All that smart-mouthing you loved to do to him, gone the second he'd peeled the pretty purple panties to the side and slid right in.

Your walls are so tight, pussy so fucking perfect. And he tells you, whispers it right into your ear as he rocks gently into you despite the urge to fuck you raw.

"Shut the fuck up, Satoru." You'd moaned back, still as feisty as the day you'd met. He grinned into your shoulder, biting down onto your ear lobe as he tuts his disapproval.

"If you truly hated me, you wouldn't keep wearing these frilly little things." And he watched in total satisfaction as you turned a cute shade of pink.

Yeah. Fucking made for him, alright.

And if you used his black card to purchase as many lace sets as you could find, who was he to stop you?

[machveil]

What do you HC König to look like under the hood?

..this is for scientific reasons , nothing nefarious going on here 👀👀

okay, so I have some Fun Thoughts, might get angsty (?), but overall we’re grooving🎀✨

CW: mention of a gun misfiring + shrapnel, past injury

[big sigh] crooked roman nose, and he’s got a big nose. I know it in my heart. very pronounced, his nose bridge is defined, but I’m a whore for a good crooked nose and I just. I know he has one, look away from me. as much as König is anxious over his physical appearance, I don’t think he hates his nose in particular or anything - like, yeah, it’s busted and another thing someone could stare at or whisper about, but it’s the least of his personal concerns. could he have it fixed? absolutely, he has the cash for it, but I think his mindset is ‘this could get broken again, why bother’

I don’t know, I just see him and I picture this man has a honkin’ nose

sad, wet König has sad, wet eyes. we know those baby blues anywhere, them icy eyes, but I think they’re always a little wet. he’s just one of those people who’s eyes always look a little glossy even when he’s not feeling any particularly strong emotion. he could be brushing his teeth and his eyes look wet

also, with his eyes in mind, he’s got long eyelashes. just a brief mention because, not that he cries regularly - far from it, but when he does? miserable little meow meow, he’s got big, fat tears clumping to his eyelashes as he sniffles (very snotty, sorry) and sobs (choked and broken, again, very sorry)

oh baby, man has thick, slightly upturned eyebrows. for as fearsome and intimidating as the Colonel is, he has resting miserable face. his eyebrows are thick, a couple stragglers that are longer than the rest (old man eyebrow moment). they naturally look like he’s knitting his eyebrows, even when his face is resting. he actually looks so pitiful and miserable when he actually furrows his brows, just a dramatic upturn

he’s ginger. in my head, he’s ginger. as much as I love hearing König with different hair colors, he’s got long, luscious copper hair to me. now, I’m not saying my personal opinion is objectively correct, but I have three photos that I want you to look at because please. please imagine sad, wet König with copper hair for me (picture one, picture two, and picture three). I’m a ginger König truther, I just have to put it out here

also, you heard me right. long hair. gorgeous, long locks of hair. let me paint you a picture, and by paint you a picture I mean here’s another Pinterest link. please! big, muscular man, the back of a Greek statue, and he has his pretty copper hair braided? ough, fucking manifesting him. and he has a lot of hair, it’s thick. he can’t be bothered to always brush it - can you imagine this behemoth of a man with the worst bed head ever? knots and matted down clumps of hair, stray strands poking out every which way - and when the sun hits his hair it looks a little more on the blonde side. I just think he’d be so pretty with copper hair guys, have I won someone over? do you believe me and my ginger König propaganda?

freckles!! as much as I love König having freckles, I don’t think he’d enjoy having them. and they’re not just under his hood, mind you, man is covered in them from head to toe. while his face is definitely coated in them, I think his shoulders and upper back got hit the hardest with them, also his arms, but more so his biceps. again, absolutely covered in them, but those areas are slammed with them

back to his face, he’s plastered. chin to forehead, ears dotted with some too. as an adult no one really comments on them because he wears the hood, very few actually know what he looks like, but as a kid? maybe it’s because he’s so heavily freckled, but that was a sore point that kids poked fun at him for. he’s carried that with him into adulthood, sometimes he’ll wear a balaclava around the house when he feels particularly bad about it - but even then, he still sees the freckles around his eyes

okay, so, firm believer he has facial scars, right? but I don’t think they’re from deployments or anything in the field, I think they’re from when he was a rookie. I saw one (1) post about it and it’ll live in my head forever (I wish I saved it, it was a recommended post on my feed that vanished). König has facial scars from shrapnel. this is really early König I’m talking about, predeceasing the balaclava and sniper hood. either his own gun or someone’s training next to him (I lean towards another rookie, I eat up the angst of it being something that was out of his control, don’t mind me), but there was a misfire and shrapnel got his face

I think prior to the misfire he still had a couple nicks and smaller scars from his childhood on his face. maybe a kid pushed him a little too hard and a piece of gravel got him or something. but this? granted, it was a total accident, but it shatters his heart. everything heals up fine, luckily it missed his eye, but half his face is scarred over in various spots - short and long streaks, rough skin covering where freckles had been

present day, as much as he hides his face for the sake of his identity, I think the main contributor are his scars. since that accident he’s gotten a few more minor scars to his face, mostly faded and barely visible, but the shrapnel scars are what he’s really hiding

I think his lips are on the thinner side, quite chapped too. in the same vein, I’ll also mention his teeth - König has nice white teeth, they’re just a little crooked. obviously, he’s very smoochable, got some kissable lips. he likes to joke about how, because his teeth aren’t perfect, he’d be easy to recognize by his dental records. he finds this very amusing

I think those are all my current thoughts on what he looks like! uuh, optional opinion I go back and forth on is him having stubble. I like to think he keeps clean shaven a majority of the time, but sometimes he’ll let his stubble grow out. sorry König beard truthers, I cannot get on board that train

[moody-alcoholic]

On a Wing and a Prayer

Part 7 - Well This Is Awkward

CW: Angst, mention's of alcohol, mentions of panic attack's, mental health, mentions of injuries, mentions of death.

Did I mention I like medical dramas?

Previous parts - masterlist - next

Your therapist is nice. You’ve been going to her for the past 3 months, you were only supposed to go for a single session. Then the army insisted on more. Johnny was sent home on medical leave a few days after you left. He came to see you and stayed the night. 

The next morning you had to tell him to leave, it just wasn’t the same. 

‘I’ll be staying at the house if you want to visit?’ 

Shit, you forgot about the house. The place you all pitched in to buy, so you all had somewhere to stay when you were on leave. Everyone’s flats are too small to accommodate all 5 of you. Besides, flat hopping everyday across London was expensive. 

‘I’ll talk to John when he’s back.’ All you want back is the deposit. 

“Do you feel guilty?” She asks you. It snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn to look at her. 

“No.” You say, she hums. You hate it when she does that. You don’t know why it is a particularly tough session. You just want to go home. “They hurt me. I don't feel guilty about that.” 

“You left the unit though.” Bitch. “It’s okay to feel guilty about that.” 

“Okay fine. I feel guilty about leaving Johnny and Kyle.” You snap back. Anything to get her to sign you off so you can go. You look up at the clock, you still have at least 40 minutes left in this season. 

“Have you got your letter from the university yet?” She asks changing the subject. You nod. After a few weeks of crying on the bathroom floor and drowning yourself in bottles of vodka you decided to get your shit together. 

“That’s good, what's the plan going forward?” 

“I’ll be posted on a base somewhere where I can get hands-on experience in trauma care. With studying on the side.” You say without going too much into the complications. 

“So the army is actively helping you, that's good.”  

“Yeah I think they’re willing to do anything so long as I don’t sue them.” You scoff under your breath. She hums.

You don’t know how true that is, maybe it’s just something you tell yourself so you don’t feel so conflicted over how accommodating they’ve been. They’re paying your uni bills and even got you one some army teaching program aimed to fast track you through the ranks. 

“What about Kyle and Johnny? Have you heard from them since you spoke to them last?” Fucking bitch. You sigh, turning away from her. The last time you spoke to them was almost a month ago. They text you from time to time, try to call you. 

You’ve ignored them, so much that you feel like anything you say to them will just be meaningless. 

“Yeah, they’re deployed.” You lie. She smiles. You look back up at the clock. 

30 minutes to go.

______________________

Iraq is hot. That you expected but the hospital’s electricity is sketchy at best. You have to keep the air-con off to make sure the ventilators don’t cut out. The US built this place, you’re only supposed to be here for another week at least before you’ll move again. 

As soon as the electric is fixed it will be handed over to the UN to run, until then it was getting a dry run as a combat hospital. Lots of blown off limbs and bullets to pull out people. Lots of death. 

You told Johnny and Kyle where you were going when you got your placement. You’re trying to patch things up with them after basically leaving them on read for almost 3 months. Your therapist said it would be a good thing to do. 

The sun is setting, you're sitting outside watching as it touches the top of the distant mountains. The place is busy, friendly forces are still pretty much living here. It’s the only safe zone in this part of the desert, why the UN wanted a hospital out here you’ll never know. 

Something about re-urbanisation of previously controlled territories. You don’t care, you're here to pull bullets out of people and save lives. Other than your mentor-Dr. Sands-you’re the only other doctor on the base. Doctor is a loose term, you’re technically still a student, but you ace all your skills labs, and the army is begging for help apparently. 

You let out a breath, finishing the rest of your drink and getting up and pulling your white lab coat on. 

“Well, fancy seeing you ‘ere.” You hear a familiar thick accent behind you. You turn to see Johnny standing behind you. 

What the fuck.

You’re hugging him before you can stop yourself. You see Kyle, John and Simon stood behind him. They’re all geared up, weapons slung over their chest or back. 

You thought you would feel something when you saw them. Maybe you'd want to run, scream, cry, anything. You feel nothing, just numbness.

“What are you doing here?” You ask.

“Oh you know, Shepherd says jump, we say how high.” he says nudging you, it makes you smile and you shake your head. 

“Finally going for the MD?” He asks, pointing at the student doctor tag on your coat. 

“Yeah well, you like putting bullets in people. I like pulling them out.” 

“Oh yeah not even the occasional love tap?” He jokes, throwing his arm around your shoulders.

“Only the bad guys.” You reply. You look up at Kyle who’s smiling. Then John and Simon. 

“You look good.” John says. 

“Yeah well that’s what 6 months of therapy will do to you.” It’s bitter, harsher than you expected it to be. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him in 6 maybe 7 months. He hasn’t changed a bit. He still smiles at you, his body language open, his hands on his hips. 

Simon stands with his arms crossed, his presence is looming, making hairs stand up on the back of your neck. 

“It’s good to see you again.” Kyle says, you nod at him. 

“Oh when we’re back we should catch a bite to eat.” Johnny says enthusiastically, moving away over to Kyle. 

“You can tell us what to avoid in the mess.” Kyle adds. You smile again. You go to open your mouth but your pager beeps. You look down at it. It’s the doctor. 

“Yeah, when you’re back, come find me.” You say turning into the building. 

“Stay safe!” Johnny calls.

“Yeah you too!” You call back pulling your radio off your hip. When you make it through the door you squeeze your eyes closed for a second and let out a long breath. 

Now you hate this hospital even more. 

______________________

It’s dark out now. You look over at the clock and it's almost midnight. You’re sat at the nurses station listening to them talk about whatever drama is going on in the next base. You still can’t believe you ended up in the same base as 141. 

They’ll be gone soon, even Johnny seemed surprised, maybe he thought you’d be gone by now. Now you have to eat with them at some point. Johnny and Kyle at least.

The doctor left an hour ago to go to another base for a surgery. You’re used to this taking the night shifts. Normally you just sleep and get woken up a few times for the nurses to ask for medication changes. You’ve only ever had one trauma come in at night and the doctor was there to help you with the limited night time staff. 

You tried to sleep but you couldn’t, you were restless trying to think about what they were doing here? Who were they after? How long would they be here? At least at the nurses station you can listen to the nurses and let their gossip distract you. 

The red trauma phone rings. For a second you think it’s a joke, it’s the normal phone. Nope, the red light is flashing on it. You stand up picking it up. 

“Trauma.” You say.

“Got one incoming, ETA 15 minutes. GSW to the chest, breathing unconscious. 30 year old male.” You hear an American voice say as you write it down. You don’t have time to worry or be nervous. This is what you live for, you let the adrenaline pump through you. It clears your mind as you take down the information. 

“Copy, what’s the name?” 

“Riley.” Your heart stops.

“Say again?”

“Riley, Simon Riley.”  

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of your lungs. You’re squeezing the phone in your hand, the pen has fallen to the floor. You look over at the nurses already pulling gowns on and getting into position in the resus bay. 

You don’t even register saying copy and putting the phone back. You turn away from the nurses braising yourself on a filing cabernet. 

Simon’s shot. All you can see is his face, his body covered in blood. He’s always so careful, he’s always the one dragging people out the field not getting shot. Something must have gone horribly wrong. 

You weren't there. He’s shot and you weren't there to save him. 

You suck in breaths of air, the adrenaline isn’t helping now. 

“Doctor?” You hear one of the nurses call. You turn to look at them, you have to keep it together. 

“Page the doctor.”

next

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[sleepyparalysisdmon]

SVT with a partner that has grandma hobbies

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘hey pookie could you do svt with a s/o that likes sudoku? cause i like sudoku but i feel like ppl have an impression of it being like a grandma hobby so yeah and svt would be like ‘awh just my loml being and grandma <3’ whenever they solve their little sudoku puzzles ‘

Will absolutely do those grandma hobbies with you - Joshua, Wonwoo, DK, Minghao

He’ll do the sudoku puzzle with you. Or the crossword puzzle. Or the jigsaw puzzle. Or the gardening. The list goes on. He likes having little hobbies to share with you, and though he finds it incredibly cute how much you enjoy those things, he will never, ever, ever tease you about it. He’ll also be unflinching if his members tease him when he says you guys are trying out scrapbooking. He’ll just shrug with a casual smile and say they must be jealous.

Finds it super cute and supports it - Seungcheol, Hoshi, Mingyu, Chan

He also finds it incredibly adorable and will literally buy you anything you need for it. He buys you all of the supplies you could ever need for it, and if you need a dedicated space for this hobby, he finds it - even if it’s just a special spot under the coffee table for your puzzle books. He might not do the activity with you, but he’ll keep you company a lot of the time while you do these things, fascinated by how much of an expert you seem to be.

Finds it super cute and leaves you be - Jeonghan, Jun, Woozi, Seungkwan, Vernon

He’ll find your hobby cute and might even buy you the occasional supplies, but you’re mostly on your own after that. He’ll leave you alone for hours at a time, sneaking in to check on you now and then. He really doesn’t want to disturb you and tries not to blow your concentration when he peeks over your shoulder. He has so little to do with your hobby that you’ll be surprised when he notices if you take a break from it. He’ll worriedly ask why you haven’t kept up with it and wants nothing more than to get you back on track if it’s a hobby you enjoy. 

[2amriize]

.ᐟ RIIZE reaction: going home with them for holidays ༉‧₊˚.

req: Hiiii love your work🩷🫧 I have a question is it possible for you to do (reader) coming home with RIIZE for the holidays like a reverse of your last post ?if not it’s okay

pairing: bf!riize x reader — masterlist

⭑.ᐟ shotaro

It was the first time you were going to meet Shotaro's family since you started dating, and you were going to spend an entire week with them. You couldn’t deny that you were pretty nervous, and Shotaro was well aware of it. Even though he had reassured you countless times that everything would be fine, you clung to him the moment you arrived. Still, his family was incredibly welcoming and showed great interest in getting to know you, asking lots of questions and making every effort to make you feel comfortable. By the end of the vacation, you felt like they were your second family. "When can we go back?"

⭑.ᐟ eunseok

You had only met Eunseok's family a couple of times before, but you adored the way they treated you, especially spending time with his younger brother. That’s why, when they invited you to spend the holidays with them, you couldn’t have been more excited. You loved hanging out with his mom and brother, you even went out for meals with them and explored the city together. Noticing how much attention you were giving them, Eunseok couldn’t help but hug you when you were alone in his room and tease you. "It seems like you’re more in love with my family than with me…"

⭑.ᐟ sungchan

Every Christmas, Sungchan and his family spent a week in a snowy cabin. He had always talked about how much fun it was, so you were naturally curious. When you received the invitation, you accepted without hesitation, not realizing you had no idea how to ski. You were amazed by how skilled Sungchan was. Both he and his family did their best to teach you, though you never quite got the hang of it. Despite that, you had an amazing time, bonding with Sungchan’s family and making unforgettable memories.

⭑.ᐟ wonbin

You were quite nervous about meeting Wonbin’s family, wanting to make a great first impression. Everything seemed to be going well until, while helping Wonbin and his dad prepare dinner, you accidentally dropped a plate, leaving you mortified. Even though everyone assured you it was no big deal, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. During dinner on the first night, they went out of their way to make you feel comfortable. Over the next few days, they included you in all their plans. In the end, Wonbin told you how much his family liked you, though you still couldn’t forget the broken plate incident.

⭑.ᐟ seunghan

When Seunghan invited you to spend Christmas at his home, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. Even though you spent almost every day together, this was your first vacation as a couple, and both of you were thrilled. You loved spending time with his family, but what you enjoyed the most was simply being with him. To your surprise, it snowed one day, and you all went out to build a snowman and have a snowball fight. It was a holiday you would always cherish.

⭑.ᐟ sohee

Sohee had often told you about his family’s holiday traditions, so you were curious to experience them in person. His family welcomed you as if you were one of their own, and every evening, you watched a movie together and played board games after dinner. You loved seeing Sohee so happy, yet shy when introducing you to his family. On the final night, the two of you cuddled by the fireplace, reminiscing about how much fun you had.

⭑.ᐟ anton

Anton was thrilled that you were finally going to meet his family and equally excited to take you to his childhood home. There were so many things he wanted to show you. Spending time with him and seeing his excitement as he gave you a tour of his neighborhood brought you so much joy. Your favorite part was visiting his room and listening to his mom share stories and show you childhood photos of Anton, your ultimate weakness, though it embarrassed him a little. By the end of the trip, you and his mom had agreed to stay in touch.

masterlist // taglist: @regularsuh @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars @taroddori @enhacolor @ladylilith @electric-hearts @astrobymarwa @layluv123 @sunflowers1610 @nctrawberries @synkjellies @ramyeonzprincess @yuzuksi

[firegirl888101]

Insatiable Madness

Diverted-Dimension (Christmas 2024)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

Why am I back here again!? Take me back to the canon!

Reader is Gender Neutral!

"Finally!" You cheered, stepping back to admire the Christmas tree in the corner of your living room.

"It looks good." Pantalone commented, looking at all the trinkets placed on the tree. "Although, I believe this gadget would look better placed there... And this bauble, yes, hmm, perhaps on the branch above rather than--"

Y'know, it always takes one person to ruin everyone else's happiness doesn't it? Especially when their name is Pantalone. You rolled your eyes, ignoring his fiddling with what you considered a complete and beautiful tree.

Let's just hope Columbina doesn't see him fiddling with her decorations. For Pantalone's sake, you pray she takes five extra minutes in the bathroom so he can have a safe getaway when he's finished with something he sees as necessary.

Anyway, you've been preparing for Christmas day tomorrow. You wanted to put up the tree earlier, not wanting to leave it this late, however being busy babysitting and making sure all the Harbingers go to work with a happy mood sure takes up a lot of time. Not only does it feel like you're playing a very dangerous version of the Sims, but more importantly, it sucks that when all of them leave you have to entertain the others that don't go to work in the first place.

"It feels like the tree is missing something." Dottore chimed in, standing back with a finger on his bottom lip.

"Please don't say that, The Regrator is already driving himself mad with his own activities." Arlecchino stated 

Ignoring those two... They're right, something seems wrong with the tree. But you used everything in the box, what could be missing --

Oh, of course! How could you forget!?

"It's missing an angel on top!" You pointed out, walking over to the Christmas box and rummaging around.

After a while of digging and loud crashing noises consisting of you throwing out whatever you thought could also be added, you found a dusty china angel missing a hand.

"Agh, this won't do." You scolded yourself. "We'll have to go with a star instead. I'll have to cut one out later."

"Cut one out? How are you going to cut a star out of the sky?" Childe asked with a bewildered expression.

"They mean they'll cut one out of paper you damn idiot." Scaramouche glared out of the corner of his eye.

"I often see the Children of the Hearth doing something similar when I pass by..." Signora thought to herself out loud, leaning on one of the arms of the sofa.

"Yes, the children love cutting out different shapes and animals. It just so happens stars are one of the easiest things to make." Arlecchino nodded in agreement.

If it's so damn easy, why don't you do it for me?? You grumbled with an angry grin. It took you a few days to learn how to cut a good looking star out of paper due to your clutzy fingers, how dare they call it 'easy' in front of you!

"Hm? Why do you look angry at me?"

"No reason." You answered her, sharply turning your head away from her tilted one. "Do I even have any paper left? Ugh, I might have to use lined paper and paint it using gold nail varnish if push comes to shove."

"Absolutely not." Sandrone interrupted you. "That sounds messy and unnecessarily more difficult than if you just bought yellow card."

"And where do you propose I get this yellow card? Out of my arse?"

"No." She looked repulsed. "The shop? I saw some in an isle."

"When and why did you go into the corner shop?" You caressed your head, sighing when hearing her solution.

"That's unimportant."

"Sure it is. Anyway, I need to start thinking about how I'm going to cook Christmas dinner--"

"Oh no you don't." Scaramouche interrupted you with a cold voice. "The last time you cooked a genuine meal that didn't include those 'instant noodles', you poisoned everyone who has an organic stomach."

"No way, the Balladeer cares enough about me to not want to see me bedridden again?" Childe gushed with a chuffed smile.

"That's not important!" You raised your voice with flushed cheeks. "How did you know that what I cooked was 'instant' noodles? I never told you that!"

"I asked a staff member in the shop down the street when I saw the exact same package for sale in one of the pasta isles."

"Oh my god, how many of you have been in that damn shop without me!?"

The room stayed silent, some looking away with a cringe whilst others looked at you with unbothered faces.

“Do I count? I’ve never left the house.” Capitano raised his hand innocently.

"Unbelievable." You cried to yourself dramatically.

"I can't believe he's still fiddling." Pulcinella sighed with judging eyes, watching the banker radically move around the tree mumbling to himself like a robot given an impossible task.

"So this is what happens when you don't give him something to do after a long period of time. Lesson learnt." Pierro sweated, coughing into a clenched fist with shut eyes.

"It's not my fault." He turned to the group with hysterical eyes, every so often one twitching. Considering his eyes are always closed, you’re impressed that his mania has managed to do the impossible. "The Decider won't let me do one of the things I'm best at, manipulating an economy. Denying me access to undermining this country's government is making me go mad!"

"What a lunatic." You ignored him, eyeing his antics as nothing more than a regular occurrence at this point.

"So, we're up for cutting a star for the tree then?" You turned back to the group.

"It's your decision and your tree, so of course." Signora shrugged.

"I'm baaaack!~" Columbina burst through the door like a canary, singing with a pep in her step.

She stopped when she saw Pantalone running around the tree, her energy from earlier vanishing as fast as a bird when hearing a gunshot.

"Erm... It's not what it looks like." He turned around slowly, feeling her menacing and dangerous energy piercing his back.

He put his hands in the air, his smile shaking in fear.

"It better not be what it looks like." Her smile contrasted his own. "Because it seems you've been touching something I specifically warned all not to touch.~"

"He's dead, he's actually dead." Childe commented on the sidelines.

"Amen."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Sandrone left to go get yellow card whilst Columbina forced you to tear down the Christmas tree and start decorating it from scratch. She said it was a punishment for you also, due to letting him rearrange it despite hearing her warning. What bullshit, she just couldn't be bothered to do it again. Anyway, Capitano helped you hold the christmas tree up so you could wrap the tinsel around it without trouble. What a nice guy… even though he technically isn’t helping you with what counts most.

"I don't understand why we're cutting out stars. Can't we just use me as the angel?" Columbina giggled to herself.

"No, that would be weird." You frowned at her. "What I don't understand is why everyone is cutting stars with me. Didn't the majority of you say this is going to be boring? Do something else!"

"The 'something else' you're talking about was also boring." Scaramouche picked up his pair of scissors, tracing his finger on the sharp side.

“I’d much rather cut something up than count how many particles are in a cloud.”

“What does that even mean!?”

“Anyway,” Dottore coughed with an irritated stretching smile. “I propose we make this a competition.”

“Of all the childish suggestions–” Arlecchino was cut off.

“I agree, I agree!” Columbina nodded with a happy smile. “It can’t be too hard, maybe we should have a reward for who wins the competition?”

“Although I find the idea of a competition to be senseless, a reward does sound quite… boosting.” Pantalone thought out loud, a greedy smile on his lips.

“This is not happening.” You sighed to yourself, head planted onto the table with exasperation radiating off of your slumped form.

“But what reward could we put on offer? I’m not against competition, heck, I encourage it! But what could we all fight for which would allow us to fight at our strongest the whole time?” Childe leaned against his chair.

The Harbingers thought to themselves, the room erupting in silence with the occasional cough or sniff. All of a sudden, their heads turned and looked at you. Feeling their gazes burning into you, you looked up from the table to see them expectantly eyeing you.

“Ohhh no. No way in whatever thoughts you’re all sharing am I getting involved in this. I’m not becoming some trophy you can flaunt for the rest of the evening.” You denied them.

“But you’re the perfect solution!” Childe playfully pouted.

“Quit torturing them, Childe.” Signora scolded the young ginger. “I propose this; let whoever wins ask The Decider one question. That question can be related to anything, the future or the past.”

“Hmm, but how would we know whether The Decider wouldn’t lie to us?” Dottore suggested.

“I’m staying out of this one.” Pulcinella put his hands in the air, leaving the room. “You youngsters go have fun, I’ll sit this one out.”

“Rooster, I would suggest staying to supervi–”

“So you can go back to that dirty office you keep closing yourself in to work? No thank you, I shall handle your paperwork today. You supervise this time.” He gave the director a harsh glare, making sure to purposefully hit him with his walking stick before walking away.

“Sometimes I can’t tell whether the Rooster is secretly a teenage girl or is just simply strange…” Pierro muttered to himself. Sighing.

“How about both, mixed in with the fact that he’s a psycho with more control issues than you think.”

“Hm? You think even more than the Regrator?”

“Deffo.” You clicked your tongue. “He just hides it because he’s a champ like that.”

“Don’t change focus!” Scaramouche raised his voice. “I order you to answer me. You will tell the truth to the victor of the contest, no?”

“Hold on, didn’t we agree to ask our own questions once we deliver them to the Tsaritsa?” Childe questioned.

“That was just to get you to not hound The Decider back when we first found them.” 

“Fine.” You agreed with an eye roll, secretly crossing your fingers behind your back like a five year old. You’ll probably just make something up that sounds accurate when the winner asks their question. You’re betting that Sandrone will win this though, this kind of has something to do with her job after all.

“It’s decided then!” Columbina clapped in delight. “The Decider and The Director will be our judges. We’ll work for 10 minutes to create a star suitable to be put on the tree, then will be judged to see who has the best!”

“This is not gonna go well…” You said, trying your best to cover the shaky smile on your face. This is the best! You’ll just pick someone who won’t ask a question you don’t mind answering! Thank you Columbina for giving you this chance.

“You’re telling me!” Pulcinella shouted from the other room, sarcasm oozing like tar glooping down a slope.

“Count us down, count us down!” Columbina couldn’t contain her excitement, her body practically vibrating.

“Alright, alright… Ugh, I regret this… On your marks, get set, cut!”

“Seriously? ‘Cut’?” Pierro turned to you.

“What was I supposed to say!?”

The Harbingers sat at the table immediately started cutting, the sound of card shredding and small pieces emitting everywhere. Guess who’s going to have to clean that up? You thought with a frown, watching card pile up in the small crevasses in your carpet.

Looking around at the Harbinger’s cutting paper, you realise one was just sitting there watching the others work.

“Uhh, Capitano? Aren’t you going to begin?” You asked him.

“No.” His deep voice answered in return. “I am not going to join this display, no matter how entertaining it will be for you. Firstly, my fingers won’t fit in the holes of the scissors. And secondly, I have no question to ask you so entering just for victory would be pointless.”

“Brother, your fingers can’t be that big.” You deadpanned, letting your mind wander a bit too far with the thought.

He simply crossed his arms and continued to watch the others, ignoring you from then on. Oh well, he’s not interfering or arguing back like a child so you’ll let it happen. Besides, it looks like he quite likes watching so it’s the least you could do.

Pierro put an arm on your shoulder, getting your attention. You turned to make eye-contact and saw him hesitating in what to say to you.

“Do you need a defibrillator? You look like you’re having a seizure.”

“Who do you think is going to make the best star?” He said after, not registering your insult you said a few seconds prior.

“Wow. Did it really take you that long to think of what to say to me?”

“Quiet.” He warned you.

“Hmm… Who do I think is going to win?” You mumbled out loud, pretending to give it some thought. “Screw it, I’m not going to pretend. Sandrone’s going to make the best one because she does this kind of thing as a job.”

“Hah!” She guffawed after hearing your predictions, continuing her cutting with a content smile.

“Buuuut, that’s not what makes a star special. It isn’t just perfection, but passion and hope. I want to see how unique some people will make it… within reason of course.”

“I wasn’t expecting such an intelligent reply.” Pierro sweated. “Here I was, ready to scold you.”

“It’s like that’s all you can ever bloody think about when it comes to me.” You deadpanned.

“You give me no choice half of the time.” He sighed with a shaking head. “Your choices are often questionable and must be corrected. Would you rather have a physical punishment instead?”

Is this guy nuts?

“No… No, I would not.”

“That's what I thought.” He turned to look at the competition.

“Decider, help me out here.” Scaramouche clicked his fingers, beckoning you like an old woman would to her juvenile cat.

“Do I look like your pet?” You recoiled in disgust.

“I’ll let you leave the house to go to that dumb park you like if you help me right now.”

“I’m on my way!” You ran over to his side, peering down to see the mess of a star he’s created. It’s not bad at all, it’s actually your style - you like it a lot! What on earth could he need help for?

When you peered down to his design, you felt a cold unnatural hand grasp the side of your head and pull it closer to his face.

“Tell me how you like them.” He whispered. “Would you rather me add more detail or remove it? And don’t lie to me or I’ll kill you.”

“Pierro, The Balladeer is cheating! He’s bribing The Decider!” Sandrone pushed her chair back and stood up dramatically, pointing her scissors at the offender.

“Hey, no fair!” Childe whined. “If he gets to bribe them, let me bribe them too!”

“If anyone is to bribe the Decider, it should be me. I am the richest man in Teyvat after all.” Pantalone shrugged whilst lazily cutting.

“Correction: Ningguang is the richest in terms of all. You only count as the richest when it comes to being a man.” You pointed out. “And besides, I would never take your dirty money.”

Piero coughed loudly to quieten everyone down, all in the room turning to him like a deer in headlights. He waited until everyone stopped complaining and then spoke.

“Do continue with your cutting, you have less than a minute left.” He gestured to the timer. “And no bribery. The first to test my patience and even attempt to do so will be put under experimentation during the rest of our stay here and our return.”

“Oh, by all means, bribe away!” Dottore laughed at the Harbinger’s around him, silently cutting.

Huh? Less than a minute left? But when you last looked at the time they had at least 8 minutes left. You checked the timer once more, and found fat greasy fingerprints on buttons that weren’t there prior. You turned to the old man with an incredulous face, mouth wide open. He caught your staring, and put a finger on his lips with a small almost unnoticeable smile.

Pierro, you cheeky bastard. I love you for this.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The stars were laid out on the dining table, each Harbinger stood behind their own creations. Sadly but also un-sadly, some Harbingers were too slow and couldn’t finish their star in time. By some, you mean Pantalone and surprisingly Sandrone.

“I’m not going to hear the end of this.” Sandrone had her face buried in her hands, looking at her creation with malice. “In defence, I value time to craft perfection. Announcing a set time dampens my methods and results in mechanics such as this one. Ugh, what a waste!” She threw the craft off of the table, the star unravelling itself immediately.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Of course.” You sarcastically waved at her embarrassment. “And you, Pantalone? What’s your excuse?”

“The scissors you gave me were tampered with! I call for–”

“So I’m the problem? Okay, whatever…”

You walked down the table, looking at each star neutrally then nodding and moving onto the next. Now, you’re not an expert, but did they really think you wouldn’t notice? They all look the exact same! They all look like copied versions of Scaramouche’s design! When watching him try to bribe you, they must have thought you liked his design the best and copied him to have a fair chance. Well, they’re wrong! You’re just going to pick the person who will give you the least trouble when answering their question, jokes on them!

…That was your original plan. After looking at all the stars, you felt a new motivation when noticing one person didn’t copy and stuck to their own principles. Also they may or may not be the only person to not take this seriously and you want to mess with the others a little bit. Pierro will agree with you, he’s the type to disregard any copycats so he won’t have trouble with your choice at all.

“Okay, I’ve decided on my winner.” You announced, stepping back to view the expectant Harbingers.

“Arlecchino, you win.”

“WHAT!?”

“But why?” She asked, not looking surprised or pleased. “I could care less about an answer to a question, nor do I care about winning this childish competition.”

“That’s actually why I picked you. And because your star is an original design - sorry Scara, but uhh, you might have won if the others didn’t copy.”

“Of course.” He grumbled, glaring at the Harbingers staring at him. “One day, I’m going to murder all of you fools and sell your parts to people far worse than Dottore! I’ll get back at all of you for ruining my chances!”

“Anyway,” You tuned his violent voice out. “Yeah, you’re the winner. Pierro, what do you think?”

“...I agree.” He said in a quieter tone. “Now, I will be returning to my office to continue what’s left of my work… and review what The Rooster has already completed.”

As he was walking away, you turned back to notice the majority of Harbingers had walked away to go back to what they were doing prior, bored after realising they wouldn't be able to profit with staying around for longer.

“Do I get to ask my question now?” Arlecchino tapped her elbow impatiently with folded arms.

“So you do want the reward?”

“Despite it not being my intention when joining, I would indeed like something that was promised. Whether it be an accident or a purposeful decision.”

“Okay, fine. Ask away then.” You shrugged.

“As you must already be aware, the majority of my Children from the Hearth hail from Fontaine, the nation of justice. I won’t lie to you, I’m beginning to grow increasingly concerned with the prophecy where–”

“--where the whole nation will be flooded and all the people will be killed except the archon? Yeah, I know of it. Your point?” You finished her explanation, already having an idea of where the conversation was heading.

“Then you will understand I care deeply about the future of my children. Tell me, will I succeed in convincing the Tsaritsa to visit Fontaine to retrieve the Gnosis in place of Rosalyne?”

“Of course you’d use the question to ask about your ‘precious children’.” Scaramouche mocked. “Just how idiotic can you be?? This is your chance to ask about the future!”

You gave a harsh glare with icy eyes in his direction before sighing, a smile on your face. “Yeah.”

“Hm? You have to give a higher detailed response to that.”

“You go to Fontaine, Childe coincidentally also there for his own personal motivations which may or may not be important. The whole time you’re there, you’re investigating Furina and the prophecy. Long story short, that I WILL NOT be elaborating, the prophecy is sorted and the people are saved. This includes the children in the House of the Hearth.” You explained, pleased with the question she asked you and your own personal answer. Wow, you can even impress yourself sometimes!

“Excellent.” She sighed in relief, her face unchanging. “Thank you. But I do have to ask, is the Hydro Archon really working to prevent the flood?”

“That’s two questions. But fine,” You shrugged. “You can trust her. Everything is proceeding to the plan, although interrogation and suspicion do indeed accelerate it to completion.” You thought out loud, noticing her questioning gaze and smiling deeper.

“That’s enough serious stuff. When are we going to discuss presents? Now that the tree is up we need to put the presents under it!” 

“Uh… We’re flat-out poor. We can’t afford presents.” Childe shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to accept my love as a present instead!”

“Ew, what are you, five? Wait… Don’t come over here! Not after saying something like that!” You panicked, watching him run over to you at full speed and choosing to run away.

“Scaramouche you know how you said you’d take me to the park? I’m cashing in that favour right now!”